


In Every Universe

by TheGirlWhoRemembers



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universes, Angst, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Mac and Jack Bromance, Multiverse Theory, Team as Family, silliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-10-21 20:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 66
Words: 60,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17649617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWhoRemembers/pseuds/TheGirlWhoRemembers
Summary: Some things are just meant to be, no matter the universe. Mac and Jack’s bromance is one of those things.Or, 100 ways Mac and Jack could have met.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I admit I haven’t written 100 scenarios yet, but the goal is to get there! (At the moment, I have written 21 scenarios, and have about six more ideas.) Suggestions are welcomed, though with the warning that they might be twisted or altered drastically in the weirdness of my brain.
> 
> This will update on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, Australian time, for now. _Accidentally Happily Ever After_ will update on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays.

**MIT**

**BOSTON**

**2007**

* * *

With a noise of triumph, Mac finally, finally managed to remove the tiny bit of broken-off metal from inside the mass spectrometer that Frankie was essentially rebuilding from scratch. He held up the offending object in the tweezers of his Swiss Army knife.

It made her smile at him, which was never a bad thing. Far from being a bad thing.

‘You’re really good with your hands, boy genius. You ever think about going into surgery?’ Frankie shrugged as she continued, already digging into the guts of the mass spec again. ‘You could save or improve a lot of lives that way.’

Mac shook his head, wordlessly passing Frankie a wrench just as she needed it.

‘Biology isn’t my thing, remember?’

He’d gotten a C in Bio 101.

Frankie snorted.

‘You knew all the _content_ inside out, Mac.’ He’d just neglected to do a couple of quizzes. More than a couple of quizzes, actually, because he’d gotten caught up in something else. Engineering was his field, not biology. There weren’t many people like Frankie, who could do both. In fact, there wasn’t anyone like Frankie at all. She looked up at him, having finished screwing the nut a little tighter. ‘Do you know why I love biology?’ Mac just shook his head. Frankie pointed at him with the wrench for emphasis. ‘Mother Nature is _the_ best engineer.’

* * *

Frankie’s words stayed with him, in the back of his mind.

The one day, he had a little crisis, a moment of wondering _what in the world am I doing here, solving theoretical problems when there are real ones out there?_

_And the rest, as the saying goes, was history._

* * *

**HUNTINGTON HOSPITAL**

**LA**

**2021**

* * *

‘…Male, forty-seven, blood type O-negative, two GSWs to the chest. Both slugs are still inside, estimated that he left half a litre on the ground, suspected internal bleeding…’

Mac nodded as he listened to the briefing from the paramedics while examining his patient, a well-muscled brunette man whose hair was turning grey. He was unconscious, and one of the bullets had gone between his fourth and fifth ribs, the other positioned just above his heart in such a way that checking for a nick in the ascending aorta was going to have to be his first priority.

‘Okay, we’re taking him into the OR ASAP, I need two units of blood on standby…’

* * *

Jack woke slowly, groggily, and managed to crack open his eyes, to see fluorescent lighting and a white ceiling.

It was hard to focus on anything, but he heard a woman’s voice and saw a vague, face-like shape in front of him.

‘Mr Dalton, you’re in hospital. You were shot, and you’ve just come out of surgery. You’re going to be alright.’ He might have nodded at that; he wasn’t sure. The voice turned away a little, like it wasn’t being addressed to him anymore. ‘Dr MacGyver, your patient’s awake…’

Everything faded out again for a while, as he drifted in and out.

* * *

When Jack woke up again, it was clearer, sharper. He could tell, this time, that there was an oxygen mask on his face, and he was lying in bed, wearing a hospital gown and connected to an IV.

He turned his head a little to the right, to see his boss, Matty Webber, sitting in a chair next to him. She actually looked relieved and still a touch worried, which confirmed what Jack had thought as soon as those guys had fired.

He’d nearly died.

He turned his head a little to the left, and found a young, unreasonably good-looking blonde guy in a doctor’s coat.

‘Mr Dalton-‘

Jack lifted the oxygen mask slightly off his face.

‘I nearly died and they give me Doogie Howser?’

* * *

Internally, Mac sighed and rolled his eyes, even as he tried very hard to keep a calm, professional exterior.

He was the youngest trauma surgeon at Huntington, at thirty, and knew he looked younger. The Doogie Howser references had gotten old ages ago.

But as much as he hated to admit it, jabs about his age (which were always, at the end of the day, digs at his competency and abilities) tended to get to him.

(He’d been through the same training program as everyone else, and trauma surgeons saw an awful lot that could be, well, traumatising.)

(He was _not_ a kid or a naïve youth who didn’t know what he was doing.)

He was pretty sure he didn’t quite manage to hide his reaction, because the very short woman sitting on the other side of Jack Dalton’s bed put her hands on her hips and spoke.

* * *

Matty shot Jack a _look,_ her hands on her hips.

‘ _Dr MacGyver_ just spent six hours saving your life, Jack. Play nice.’

(She’d backgrounded him as soon as she’d learned he was treating Jack. He might be young, but he already had a reputation for being a wunderkind capable of saving ‘impossible’ cases, one that did not seem to be unfounded in the slightest.)

Jack turned his head again to look properly at the young surgeon.

He really had thought he’d been a goner when those bullets hit him. He’d expected to wake up surrounded by angels or something, not in a hospital with a too-young surgeon, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t know anything about GSWs.

He had to owe a good deal of his life to this surgical wonder kid. No, he mentally corrected himself – not a kid, surgical wonder or otherwise.

He did look to be in his late twenties, which to be fair, wasn’t really kid territory anyway.

But more importantly, he’d just spent six hours working his ass off, saving Jack’s life. And there was something in his eyes that didn’t seem young at all, something that reminded Jack of the many soldiers he’d known and what he saw in the mirror.

(He supposed trauma surgeons saw a lot, knew holding someone’s lives in your hands and the horrors people could inflict on each other and death intimately.)

He did his best to smile, raised the oxygen mask again.

‘Thanks, brother.’


	2. Two

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

**2019**

* * *

‘…just saying, Riles, it’s a great thing you got yourself a man who can cook.’

Jack smirked teasingly at his daughter (technically stepdaughter, but they and his wife, Diane, never considered the _step_ ), holding up the bag containing chips and salsa and pretzels (all store-bought) that she’d been told to bring to the barbecue at her boyfriend Bozer’s place.

(Riley was an FBI white-hat. Bozer was an FBI forensic accountant. They’d met at work, and how they’d wound up together was a really long story.)

(At several points, Jack had wanted to go all Wookie on Bozer.)

Riley rolled her eyes affectionately and snorted, raising the batch of cookies in her left hand, which he mom had baked.

(Diane would be joining them shortly; she was coming straight from work.)

‘Pot, kettle, black, Dad.’

Jack was a pretty atrocious cook. He could burn water.

* * *

Riley opened the front door (Bozer – with the blessing of his best friend, who was also his landlord – had given her a key and told her she didn’t have to knock ages ago), and walked inside, followed by Jack.

She was greeted by Bozer’s said best friend, who was scrubbing grease off his hands in the kitchen.

‘Hey, Riley.’ Mac had a streak of grease on his cheek, too. ‘Boze is out on the deck, starting the burgers.’

She arched an eyebrow at him, a teasing little smile on her face as she put the six-pack of beer in her right hand in the fridge.

‘Grill trouble?’

Mac smiled in a way that was nearly a little smirk.

‘Not anymore.’

Riley shook her head, that little smile widening, and then gestured to her own cheek.

‘Missed a spot, Mac.’ He searched for the nearest reflective surface, which happened to be a saucepan, and then scrubbed at the grease. When he lowered the saucepan, Riley gestured between her dad and her boyfriend’s best friend. ‘Dad, this is Mac, Bozer’s best friend. Mac, this is my dad, Jack.’

Mac smiled and held out a hand for Jack to shake, which the older man took and shook firmly.

‘It’s nice to meet you.’ He paused. ‘Riley and Bozer have told me, uh, a lot about you.’

Jack snorted.

‘Yeah, same here, brother.’ He leaned in a little closer and stage-whispered. ‘No matter what they told you, I really did kill that tiger-bear.’

Mac quirked an eyebrow at him _extremely_ sceptically.

‘There is no such thing as tiger-bears.’

‘Is too!’ Jack stretched his hands out. ‘It was this big! It had _stripes_!’

* * *

Meanwhile, introductions made, Riley strode out onto the deck to greet her boyfriend. After a proper hello, the two of them turned to look inside, where Mac and Jack were bickering loudly and gesticulating at one another.

‘…that is science-fiction, not science _fact_!’

‘Who do you think you are, Bill Nye?’

Bozer grinned.

‘And _that_ is the start of a beautiful bromance.’ Riley raised an eyebrow sceptically. Bozer just spread his arms wide. ‘Hey, all legendary bromances start with bickering, maybe even a fist-fight…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you agree with Bozer on the bromance trope!


	3. Three

**GOOD SAMARITAN HOSPITAL**

**SAN JOSE**

**2001**

* * *

At 6 in the morning, which was far too early, Jack sprawled out in a chair in the otherwise-empty waiting room of the maternity wing. His sister had gone into labour with her first kid about an hour ago, and here he was, waiting for his niece to arrive.

He checked his watch; his parents should be here soon.

He heard a commotion at the entrance, and looked up, but it wasn’t his mom and dad. Instead, there was a man of around seventy, wearing a brown leather jacket, holding the hand of a little blonde girl who was about four, with his hand on the shoulder of a blonde boy of about ten. The little girl looked half-asleep, and was yawning loudly, while the boy, a really skinny kid, looked far more awake.

The man led the two kids over to the seats opposite Jack. The little girl immediately curled up in her chair, brown eyes closing, which made both her brother and the old man (their grandfather, presumably) smile.

‘Keep an eye on her, bud. I’m gonna check on how your mom’s doing, okay?’

The boy nodded, and his grandfather handed him a red Swiss Army knife with a soft smile, and went off to speak to a nurse, before heading through the doors into the wing of maternity rooms.

The boy pulled a Rubik’s cube out of his pocket, and studied it for about fifteen seconds, before starting to solve it without really looking, watching his sister.

Jack’s brows rose in surprise. The kid was seriously quick, and solving it without looking?

Jack couldn’t even solve one of those damn tricky cubes.

The boy kept solving the Rubik’s cube, and on the third time ‘round, Jack started timing him, for lack of anything better to do.

(He was _bored._ )

‘…Seriously, kid, you trying to break the world record or something? That was, like, forty seconds.’

The blonde boy looked up at him.

‘The current official world record for solving a 3-by-3 Rubik’s cube is 17.02 seconds.’

‘Huh.’ He did not know that. ‘Guess you got some work to do, eh?’

The boy shrugged.

‘I’m not trying to break the world record; it’s just something to keep my hands busy. It’s relaxing.’

Jack slung his hands behind his head, slumping down in his chair.

‘All this waiting sucks, right, kiddo?’ He gestured with his head to the doors of the ward. ‘My sister’s having a baby.’

The boy nodded, looking sympathetic.

‘My mom’s having dizygotic twins.’

Jack looked confused.

‘Di-zoo-goat twins?’

‘ _Dizygotic._ Fraternal twins.’

The kid sounded like his fifth grade science teacher. It was seriously weird.

Jack held up his hands.

‘Eh, you say to-mah-to, I saw to-may-to.’ The boy really looked like he wanted to protest. Being lectured by a ten-year-old wasn’t on Jack’s list of things he wanted to do today, so he continued before the kid could interrupt. ‘You’re a real smart cookie, ain’t you, kid?’ He reached across to offer the boy a hand to shake. ‘Name’s Jack Dalton.’

The boy hesitated for a moment, then reached out to shake Jack’s hand.

‘Angus MacGyver, but everyone calls me Mac.’

Jack arched an eyebrow at him, a teasing grin on his face, half-chuckling.

‘You’re named after a _burger_?’

He’d meant it as a joke, to tease, but he missed the mark and felt bad for it immediately. Mac crossed his arms, looking annoyed and, beneath that, hurt. The name was a sore point, apparently.

(Jack didn’t exactly blame him. Middle-schoolers could be vicious, and his name was _Angus._ )

‘It’s a family name. And Angus beef burgers are named for the corresponding breed of cattle, which are in turn named after Angus County in Scotland, which was named after the brother of King Kenneth II. So, _technically,_ it’d be more correct to say that the burger is named after me.’

Jack didn’t exactly buy the kid’s argument, but it was better logic than he’d seen in a lot of adults. He held his hands up in supplication.

‘Whatever you say, Mac.’ That seemed to soothe his ruffled feathers. The kid put aside the Rubik’s cube, as if bored with it, and stared to toy with his grandpa’s Swiss Army knife. After a moment of watching, Jack reached into his pocket, rummaged around and pulled out two paperclips (stolen from some sniper training papers he’d had to read) and a gum wrapper. He held them out to Mac. ‘Want something else to keep your hands going?’

The boy looked up, and Jack swore his eyes actually lit up.

(Kid was seriously _weird._ )

He reached out and took them, with all the eagerness of a child.

‘Thanks, Mr Dalton.’

Jack snorted, and waved a hand.

‘Call me Jack. Mr Dalton makes me sound old.’ That got a mischievous little grin out of the boy, and Jack pointed at him firmly. ‘Oh, don’t you dare, Mac. Don’t you dare.’

Mac gave a little chuckle, and got to work unwinding the paperclips, then re-shaping them with the aid of the pliers out of his grandpa’s Swiss Army knife.

Jack, meanwhile, checked to see if his parents had paged him, which they had, so he typed out a response.

Just when he was done, the doors to the ward opened, and Mac’s grandfather reappeared, grinning in a way that made him look much younger, and walked up to his grandkids.

‘Gus, Isla, your baby brother and sister are here.’

Isla sat up, rubbing her eyes.

‘Can we go see Mommy and the babies now?’

Her grandpa nodded and the little girl suddenly seemed much more awake. She reached out and took her grandpa’s hand, hopping off her chair, and followed him to the ward doors. Mac got up to follow them, but stopped in front of Jack and handed him two re-shaped paperclips: one a slightly-wonky star, another a somewhat-imperfect Texas.

He smiled in a way that had quite a bit of a smirk in it when Jack raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Accent.’

With that, he jogged off to join his grandpa and sister, clearly excited to become a big brother to a new baby boy and girl.

Jack smiled, and shook his head, pocketing the re-shaped paperclips.

This Mac kid was weird, but clearly a good egg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kid!Mac and Jack dynamic was hard to get right in this case, because I wanted to keep some of the we-are-fundamentally-different-people and antagonism of their first meeting, but I also felt Jack wouldn’t be all that mean to a kid…
> 
> I also feel that Mac’s social skills probably improved as he got older (mine certainly have, and I think that’s normal for kids in general), so he’s a bit more lecture-everyone-about-science at the age of ten than he is in his twenties. (Or, rather, the science lectures of twenty-something Mac are done mostly in his head, most of the time.)


	4. Four

**JACK’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

**2008**

* * *

After Caleb Worthy left, Jack, with effort, heaved himself off the couch. He walked over to the bathroom, and grabbed a change of clean clothes, then went and took a shower.

It did feel like a mission, with a lot of effort and what felt like courage involved.

Then, he sat down at his kitchen counter to eat the blueberry peach pie.

Something about Caleb’s news had knocked something loose in him.

The image of a little Caleb Worthy running around shifted slowly, into a little Jack Dalton.

Thinking about the kids he might well never have got him thinking about Riley, of course, just like it had for the last couple of years.

That wound still ached. He didn’t think it would ever stop.

He wondered, as he ate, how she was doing, how Diane was doing, with a pang.

He’d never been a good enough man for them.

He certainly wasn’t now, pigging out on pie and having spent weeks on the couch, pacing like a moody vampire and screaming at all times of night.

A voice that sounded an awful lot like Caleb pointed out to him that _he could get better._

It wouldn’t be easy, but no mission ever was.

He’d need help too, but then again, who wanted a solo mission, without anyone to watch your back?

With determination, Jack grabbed his laptop and did some Googling.

* * *

**A COMMUNITY CENTRE**

**LA**

**2012**

* * *

Jack paced along the room, waiting for his support group for veterans to start.

He wasn’t usually early, but traffic had been especially good today, for some reason. He resisted the urge to steal another one of the choc-chip cookies that Diane had made (members were supposed to bring some kind of snacks to share), and kept pacing.

The door opened a moment later, and in came a very young blonde man who looked like he’d walked straight out of a Hollywood teen flick.

Except for the look in his eyes, that heaviness, that something that said _I’ve seen and heard and done things, terrible things,_ the one that Jack recognized oh, so well, since it was in the eyes of every single member of the group, since he still saw it in the mirror from time to time.

He swallowed reflexively.

Seeing it in the eyes of such a young man (but absolutely not a boy, not with that look in his eyes), probably about the same age as Riley, really tugged at his heartstrings.

The young man brought the box he was holding over to the table on the side and set them next to Diane’s cookies. He opened it, sending the smell of garlic and cheese wafting through the air, and Jack walked over to take a look and greet the new guy.

(He knew everyone who came to this support group, but he’d never seen this guy before. Besides, based on that look in his eyes, how intense it was, he’d just gotten out.)

‘Hey, brother.’ Jack gestured with his head towards the cheese biscuits in the box. ‘You make those?’

The blonde nodded.

‘Yeah.’ He shrugged a little sheepishly. ‘I’m not much of a cook, but baking is pretty much just maths and chemistry, so it’s actually pretty fun.’

Jack studied him for a moment, brows raised.

‘Bomb nerd or flyboy?’

That got a snort out of the younger man, and a headshake with a slightly-sheepish smile.

‘EOD tech.’ He held out a hand for Jack to shake. ‘Angus MacGyver, but _please_ call me Mac.’

Jack smiled back at him, shook his hand firmly.

‘Jack Dalton, ex-Delta.’ He reached out and took a biscuit, cramming half of it into his mouth. Mac raised an eyebrow at him, as Jack made a noise of approval and shot him a thumbs-up, before jamming the rest in. ‘Real good, brother! Gives Red Lobster a run for their money!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if Red Lobster biscuits are actually not that good; I’ve never eaten one. I just make cheese and garlic biscuits using a recipe that claims to be a Red Lobster dupe, and they’re delicious! 
> 
> Do let me know if you have suggestions/prompts you'd like to see!


	5. Five

**A NURSING HOME**

**LA**

**2044**

* * *

Jack Dalton, aged seventy, former Delta, ex-CIA, elite sniper and all-round badass (at least until the arthritis, many old GSWs, pushing his body to the limits for years and too many dislocations and fractures had caught up with him), glared at the man sitting in an armchair across from him.

Jim MacGyver was in his eighties, and was a grumpy old man who was convinced that he was smarter than everyone else on the planet.

He also had terrible taste in television, and was currently in possession of the holo-TV’s remote.

As a result, the holo-TV was showing re-runs of _How It’s Made._

Jack gesticulated at the projection.

‘No-one wants to watch that, Jim! It’s boring and full of science!’

Jim rolled his eyes.

‘You’re a knuckle-dragging philistine, Dalton. This is _fascinating_ , and far superior to American Football.’

Jack wanted to watch his beloved Cowboys play the Seahawks. He crossed his arms.

‘Well, nothing, I mean nothing, especially not some old know-it-all, is gonna keep me from watching my Cowboys!’

With that, Jack lunged for the remote as best as he could.

* * *

When Mac walked into the reception of his dad’s nursing home, he could hear shouting and protesting.

He sighed, and turned to the nearest nurse, an exasperated woman who was just walking out of one of the home’s shared living spaces that he knew well.

‘My dad’s causing trouble again, isn’t he?’

He asked the poor lady this just about every single time he visited.

Age hadn’t really mellowed James MacGyver.

The nurse nodded.

‘We worked out a schedule for who gets to pick the channel, and today isn’t his turn, but…’

She was interrupted by shouting.

‘Seriously, man, what have you done? Why ain’t the channel changing?’

Mac sighed again.

His dad was up to his usual.

He gestured back at the exit, addressing the long-suffering nurse.

‘I’ve just got to grab a couple of things from my car, I’ll be back in a moment…’

* * *

Jim scowled as the channel changed, despite his jammer. Seconds later, his son strode over, and handed Dalton an override remote.

Dalton looked sceptical and befuddled as he glanced between Angus and the new remote.

‘What in the world is this, brother?’

Angus gave a little smile that was nearly a smirk.

‘It’s a remote that’ll let you change the channel…’ He looked pointedly over at Jim. ‘…despite my dad’s signal jammer.’

Dalton changed the channel to the NFL match, before looking up, horrified, at the two MacGyvers. There was a strong resemblance between father and son, from build to facial structure to even the way they moved, despite the fact that Angus had blue eyes and his grey-streaked blonde hair was far straighter than Jim’s remaining almost-curls.

‘There’s _two_ of you?’

He sounded horrified.

Jim derived significant amusement from Dalton’s over-the-top reactions, so he smiled and spoke.

‘Angus has two kids. And every chance of grandchildren in the next decade or so.’

Dalton paled further.

Internally, Jim chuckled.

* * *

‘…You know, Dad, this wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t keep taking apart the holo-phones we buy you.’ Jack watched as Jim raised an eyebrow at his son, who sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘I’ve never claimed to not be a hypocrite.’

Jack turned his attention back to the game as the MacGyvers continued to argue.

* * *

A couple of hours later, the game done, the younger MacGyver, Angus, stopped by Jack’s armchair.

‘Sorry about my dad. He…well, he’s stubborn and completely convinced of his own intellectual superiority.’

Jack snorted.

‘Yeah, among other things.’

The younger man lifted a shoulder, a little wry, a little sheepish. Then, he gestured at the override remote in Jack’s hands.

‘That should hold you for a couple of weeks or so, until Dad works out how to get around it. I’ll think of something better then.’

Jack nodded gratefully.

‘Thanks, brother.’

Angus smiled and nodded back, then made to leave, before, as if remembering something, turning back to Jack.

‘And you’ll probably need a new battery for that in, uh…’ His face screwed up a little in concentration. ‘…two or three days.’ He gestured with his head to Jack’s watch. ‘The one in there’ll do.’

And with that, he left.

Jack shook his head.

MacGyvers were _weird._


	6. Six

**A MIDDLE SCHOOL**

**LA**

**2022**

* * *

‘…You girls are heading out for skeeball, then to Killer Burgers, right?’

Riley and Delilah nodded, Jack and Diane’s older daughter putting her hands on her little sister’s shoulders. They were very close, despite the eighteen-year age gap. Riley had started taking her little sister out for skeeball and burgers while Jack and Diane were at parent-teacher interviews when she was in the third grade, and now that she was thirteen and in the eighth grade, the tradition continued.

Diane reached out and put an arm around her younger daughter.

‘We’ll see you there, sweetie.’

Jack crossed his arms.

‘Unless, of course, we hear that you been getting up to stuff you shouldn’t at school, and then it’ll be no burgers for you, little lady!’

Delilah rolled her eyes, while Riley snorted, the expressions on their faces nearly-identical, while Diane raised an eyebrow at her husband.

‘I’ve been staying out of trouble at school, Dad, like always.’ Delilah gave a mischievous smirk. ‘I’m saving it all for after school!’ She raised an eyebrow at the look on her dad’s face. ‘What’s life without a little trouble? Isn’t that what you always say?’

Jack huffed. Diane and Riley exchanged a glance, Riley bumping her fist to her little sister’s.

‘She’s got you there, Dad.’

Delilah gestured to the schedule on her mom’s phone.

‘Who are you meeting with first?’

Diane turned the phone screen around to show her.

‘Your science teacher, Mr MacGyver.’

That made Riley smirk mischievously, and she nudged her sister.

‘Weren’t you talking about him with your friends the other day? About how _cute_ he is?’

Jack zeroed in on that, predictably, and Delilah shot her sister a dirty look and crossed her arms.

‘Chill, Dad.’ She shrugged. ‘Yeah, he’s really cute, but he’s my teacher, and, like, Riley’s age.’

Riley snorted, socking her sister lightly in the arm.

‘Gee, thanks.’

Delilah just smirked in response.

‘He _is_ your age, I could introduce you two…’

Riley shook her head.

‘I’ll pass, lil’ sis. Science nerds aren’t really my type.’

* * *

Jack and Diane walked into Mr MacGyver’s classroom, which looked a little bit like what Jack would imagine Bill Nye and Einstein would come up with when asked to interior decorate.

The walls had an array of posters on it, with themes from the structure of DNA to dark matter to radioactive elements to shield volcanoes.

There was science equipment like beakers and microscopes and a whole heap of other things that Jack didn’t know the names of, and what looked like a series of robots made from things like vacuum cleaners and toasters lined the back wall.

On the whiteboard, there was a Fact of the Day (Airbags are explosions that save lives – on a crash, detonation of a small amount of an igniter compound triggers decomposition of NaN3 to produce N2, a rapid reaction that takes milliseconds to inflate the airbag.) and a Challenge of the Day (Calculate how old you would be if you lived on Mars.)

Sitting at the desk at the front was a handsome blonde man, who did, indeed, look about the same age as Riley. He was wearing beige khakis and a blue button-down, and despite Jack’s tendency to be suspicious about anything male that caught the eye of his little girls, looked extremely wholesome, and judging by his classroom, was a massive nerd. He got up and smiled at Jack and Diane as they came in, holding out a hand.

‘Hi, you must be Delilah’s parents, Mr and Mrs Dalton.’ He shook Diane’s hand, then Jack’s. ‘I’m her science teacher, Angus MacGyver, and she’s in my eighth grade class…’ He looked sheepish and a little awkward. ‘…which I’m sure you already know. Sorry.’ He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. ‘Take a seat, please.’

Yeah, Jack thought to himself as Mr MacGyver (‘Oh, uh, please call me Mac.’) took out a copy of Delilah’s report and got a little side-tracked talking rather excitedly about the Science Fair project she was working on (it was that robot made out of a toaster), he was definitely not Riley’s type.

…Unlike Billy Colton, the son of the owner of their favourite diner.

He’d better have a chat to Billy.


	7. Seven

_‘My name’s Angus MacGyver. I have twelve first-place science fair trophies, two years at MIT and three years defusing bombs for the military. And what do I do now? A little of this, a little of that. You’d be surprised what you can do with what you’ve got lying around…and a bit of duct-tape, some creative thinking and plenty of science. I bet you’ve got everything you need to fix all your household problems – you just don’t know it yet.’_

* * *

**TV GUIDE - FRIDAY**

HGTV

7:00 PM – Mr Can-Do

On this episode, Mac shows you how to upgrade your grill so that dinner can be on the table in thirty minutes flat, no matter what you’re cooking. The Food Network’s Wilt Bozer, his best friend, stops by to put it to the test and shares his family’s pastrami recipe.

* * *

_‘I’m Ellen MacGyver, and this is my husband Jim. We might be retired, but we’re not interested in putting our feet up or spending our son’s inheritance. Instead, we decided to travel the country, and build something good…literally. We help ordinary, deserving Americans create their dream homes. Oh, and sometimes, our son Angus stops by for a visit…and he and Jim get up to some mad science.’_

* * *

**TV GUIDE – SUNDAY**

HGTV

8:30 PM – Building Good

It’s a family affair tonight as Ellen, Jim and Angus (AKA Mac, Mr Can-Do) travel to Puerto Rico to help Angus’ friend from boot camp, Carlos, and his family rebuild their home, which was destroyed in Hurricane Maria. While they’re there, Jim and Angus upgrade the security at a local bank.

* * *

_‘I’m Riley, and this is my mom Diane. For a long time, it was just the two of us. Things weren’t easy when I was a kid, and I had to learn to be tough, independent, overcome any setback and not shy away from hard work. Now, all those skills help me and my mom succeed as we flip houses in LA, with my stepdad Jack. He’s a goofball, but he’s a great contractor, and together, we can turn lost causes into dream homes.’_

* * *

**TV GUIDE – WEDNESDAY**

HGTV

8 PM – The Flipping Life

Family Flip Special, Part One: Riley, Diane and Jack team up with the MacGyvers (stars of _Building Good_ and _Mr Can-Do_ ) for the first time to fix up a house in Riley and Diane’s old neighbourhood, sell it for big profits, and buy and fix up a dream home for teenager Abina Adjei and her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only excuse I have for this is I watch way too much HGTV. 
> 
> Random _MacGyver_ observations my brain spat out:
> 
> A core cast member has departed on every season of the show so far. To date, the departures have been in Episode 12, 13 and 14, in that order.
> 
> Mac appears shirtless precisely once per season (The Falling, Roulette Wheel + Wire, K9 + Smugglers + New Recruit). (I have no idea why it seems to be exactly once – for all we know, I suppose it could be in Lucas Till’s contract.)
> 
> Mac also gets shot precisely once per season (The Falling, Mac + Murdoc, Wilderness + Training + Survival). I’m also fairly certain that while it’s been a different body part each time, it is also always on the left side (I’m pretty sure it was his left thigh in S3…).


	8. Eight

**MISSION CITY**

**CALIFORNIA**

**2003**

* * *

Jack sat down on a handy picnic bench with a smile, and unwrapped the sandwich he’d bought from a local deli.

A little mini-vacation in the Bay Area had been a great idea.

He was just about to take a bite of his lunch when out of nowhere, an honestly ugly dog of indeterminate breed ran up, and stole the sandwich right out of his hands.

Jack, with all the reflexes of a Delta, couldn’t quite save his sandwich from the mutt’s jaws, but he did manage to grab the dog itself and get a good grip on its collar (which it didn’t seem to mind quite so much, since he was happily scarfing down Jack’s sandwich).

A few seconds later, a skinny blonde boy of about eleven or twelve ran up, took one look at Jack, who was giving the dog his best stink-eye as it polished off his lunch, and sighed.

‘Archimedes stole your sandwich, didn’t he?’

He crouched down next to Jack, took hold of the dog’s collar.

Jack let go of the collar, and crossed his arms and addressed the boy.

‘You gotta keep better control of your pet, kiddo.’

The boy’s expression turned half-sheepish, half-wry.

‘We’ve tried. So far, he’s jumped the fence, four times, chewed through six different cages, and tunnelled under a wall twice.’

Jack raised his brows, glancing from boy to dog and back again.

‘Huh. Guess you should’ve called him Houdini, not Archie-domes.’

‘Archimedes. He was an Ancient Greek mathematician who, among other things, determined that…’ The boy trailed off. ‘Never mind.’ He gestured at Archimedes’ nose, which had a little bit of mayo from Jack’s sandwich on it. ‘I’m really sorry about your sandwich.’ He sounded very contrite about it. Jack got the feeling that inability to control or contain his pet aside, he was a good kid. The blonde boy pulled out eight bucks from his pocket and handed it to Jack. ‘That’s, uh, compensation.’ He paused for a moment. ‘And Burger Nirvana…’ He pointed at an outrageous, loud sign down the block. ‘…does the best burgers in town, I promise.’

Jack, after a moment of hesitation, took the money, and nodded and smiled at the boy.

‘Thanks, kid.’ He gestured at the dog. ‘Good luck with shoulda-been-Houdini there.’

The boy clipped a lead to the dog’s collar, and gave it a little tug, a rather wry look on his face.

‘Thanks.’ The dog had refused to move, despite his owner taking a few steps forward. ‘Come on, Archimedes…’

Jack hid a smile as dog and boy had a stand-off of epic proportions, and headed off to Burger Nirvana.

* * *

The kid was right.

Best burger ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day, I’d like to hear/see what happened to Archimedes in canon. Obviously, he’s dead, but still, it’d be nice to see some of Mac’s childhood adventures with him…


	9. Nine

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

**2014**

* * *

_When I was a little boy, I wanted to be an astronaut. When I got a little older, I wanted to be a scientist, an inventor, like my dad._

_I never considered member of ‘the hottest boyband on the planet’ to be my likely career, but here I am._

_My name’s Angus MacGyver, and I’m the keyboardist/percussionist of Cardinal Points._

* * *

Mac smiled and grabbed a burger from the platter that his best friend, Wilt Bozer, the lead singer of Cardinal Points, brought in. He put it on his plate, then pulled out his Swiss Army knife and began to open beers, passing the first one to Billy Colton, their lead guitarist, then his brother, Frank, who played the drums. Charlie Robinson, bass guitar, swiped one from his hands as soon as he’d opened it, and Mac chuckled.

* * *

_So, how did we get here?_

_Actually, it all started during a really, really terrible month in Afghanistan._

_On the Day of the Thousand IEDs, a bombmaker known as The Ghost killed twelve innocent civilians, including six children. Two weeks later, my mentor, Alfred Pena, was killed just before he was meant to go on leave to see his daughter’s birth._

_I was supposed to take that house._

_And then, just ten days after that, Charlie and I got caught in one of The Ghost’s traps. He’d come to finish us off in person._

_Well, I guess more accurately, he’d come to finish me off in person._

_But that’s another story, for another time, and it’s also classified._

_Anyway, long story short, we got him, but he got us._

_A couple of medical discharges, a lot of rehab…Charlie and I weren’t in a good place. We wound up in music therapy, and it really, really helped._

_We enjoyed it, greatly, too. And I discovered that I remembered a lot more of those six months of piano lessons I got signed up for when I was eight, as an attempt to alleviate my boredom and hence, uh, curb some of my more destructive tendencies._

_Then, we met the Coltons, and one thing led to another, and next thing we know, Cardinal Points is the next big thing._

* * *

The front door opened, and in came Leanna Martin and Riley Davis, who were a famous pop duo and also happened to be Bozer and Billy’s girlfriends respectively. They were chatting with Jessie Colton, and followed by Matty Webber, the manager of both R&L and Cardinal Points, and Mama Colton, who helped her manage Cardinal Points. Samantha Cage, who ran security for Riley and Leanna, was also with them.

Matty took a beer, held it out to Mac to open, which he did obligingly, then looked at the five members of Cardinal Points and smiled, though it was a rather pointed expression.

One that dared them to argue with her.

‘I’ve found you a bodyguard.’

They’d had this argument many times before. Mac and Charlie were ex-military, Billy and Frank could look after themselves. They maintained that they didn’t need security in the way that Cage was security for Leanna and Riley.

Matty insisted that they did. Especially after that last incident with the really, really crazy, obsessed fan.

(Grown men weren’t really their target audience, but Dennis Murdoc was honestly really creepy, and frankly dangerous. Mac had managed to hit him with that wine bottle rocket, thankfully.)

The five members of the band exchanged a glance, then looked at the women.

All of them looked every bit as insistent as Matty.

They were never going to win this argument.

Mac sighed internally, took a swig of his beer, and spoke.

‘What’s his or her name?’

‘Jack Dalton.’

Behind her, Riley’s eyes went very wide, and she almost choked on her beer.

* * *

‘…am I gonna have to listen in on rehearsals? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, boys, I can’t stand your music.’ Jack Dalton made a face. ‘You know, all that sugary, sack-car-Rhine pop…ugh.’

‘Saccharine. You mean saccharine.’

Jack raised his brows at Mac.

‘Oh, great, and now I got a scrawny, blonde-haired know-it-all correcting me! Am I gonna have to put up with that, too?’ He gestured around the room. Bozer was posting a selfie of the five of them on Instagram and interacting with fans. Charlie was staring at a notebook, working on a song that he’d been trying to write for ages, but was stuck and hence drumming randomly on the arm of the couch. Billy was texting Riley, and Frank running an algorithm on social media posts about them. Mac, meanwhile, was building the latest mostly-percussion instrument he’d be playing. He hadn’t named it yet, but it involved a triangle, a marimba, an egg-shaker and a kazoo, all in one. ‘Seriously, with y’all busy doing all this, no wonder none of your songs have any meaning and sound all the same!’

That did it for Mac.

Yes, they had a lot of pretty saccharine, stereotypical boy-band stuff in their catalogue.

Billy and Bozer wrote most of that; if it was smooth and confident, it was Billy’s work, if it was a little whacky but ultimately sweet, it was Bozer’s.

But their most recent album had been about 60% decidedly not that.

There’d been a song written by the Coltons and Mac that’d dealt with their abandonment by their fathers and paid tribute to the people who’d raised them, namely Mama Colton and his grandfather, perhaps not explicitly by name, but definitely by theme. There was one inspired by Bozer’s feelings of guilt and helplessness and anger at his little brother Josh’s death when he was a child. There was a polished-up version of a couple of pieces Mac and Charlie had written when they were in rehab.

And the one that’d become the biggest hit of all… _Already Tired (Might as Well Learn)_.

Written entirely by Mac, and a tribute to Alfred Pena, with all proceeds from that single going to a charity devoted to helping vets, their families, and the widows and widowers and children of those who’d never made it home.

Pena’s death was a sore point. It had been for a long time, and it always would be, Mac suspected.

So, he got up, leaving his hybrid instrument, and stood in front of Dalton, his arms crossed.

‘Have you ever even listened to any of our music?’

Jack snorted, waved a hand dismissively.

‘Don’t need to, slick. Boy-bands, all the same…seriously, life ain’t all sunshine and roses and wooing pretty girls, _kid._ ’

Unnoticed by either Mac or Jack, who were very much in each other’s faces, Billy, Frank, Bozer and Charlie exchanged worried glances.

This was _not_ going to be good.

They all hoped Jack would shut up. They also wondered, idly, whether he’d been living under a rock – it was well-known that Mac and Charlie were vets, wounded war heroes, even if it wasn’t obvious visually, since they much preferred to dress to keep the scars private.

Mac’s eyes hardened. He very, very rarely got angry, but Jack Dalton had hit just about every sore point he had.

He was _not_ a kid. He knew pain and suffering and death and the horrors of war intimately. And _Pena._ _The Ghost. His dad._

Chaos erupted.

* * *

_Years later, we’d look back on it and actually laugh. All good bromances, as Boze says, begin with fisticuffs, or at least a hell of a lot of bickering._

_At the time, though, there was no laughing._

_I thought Matty alone would blister my ears off._

* * *

_March 14 th 2020_

_TMZ exclusive! Pics from Cardinal Points’ celebration of Angus MacGyver’s engagement – the ones the band didn’t want you to see! Plus – we address the many theories on how he met the future Mrs MacGyver: spoiler alert – he and Jack Dalton weren’t in her ER for an instrument construction accident!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I turned Mac, Bozer, Billy, Frank and Charlie into a version of One Direction (hence Cardinal Points). This is heavily inspired by one of the detectives in 2.11, Bullet + Pen, describing Mac as boy-band-gone-bad, and the fact that Tristin Mays is apparently a triple threat who can sing, dance and act. 
> 
> It’s also threatening to grow into a full-blown story of its own, but I’m putting that plot bunny aside for now. If we don’t get a Season 4, trust me, I could still be writing _MacGyver_ fics for years at this rate…


	10. Ten

**COMIC-CON**

**SAN DIEGO**

**2015**

* * *

‘…hey, _you’re_ the one who wanted to come along, Dad.’

Jack, wearing a T-shirt that said _Let the Wookie Win_ , crossed his arms, glancing around at all the weirdly-dressed people, before looking at his stepdaughter Riley, who was dressed normally, in grey skinny jeans, a maroon T-shirt with criss-cross detailing and a black leather jacket.

‘I gotta make sure your internet friend ain’t a serial killer or something!’

Riley rolled her eyes.

‘I can look after myself, Jack. And trust me, I _really_ don’t think Bozer’s a serial killer. The background check I ran came up clean.’

(Riley kinda had trust issues, hence the background check.)

(She’d told him after the fact, with an apology and a bit of an explanation. Bozer had been super-chill about it.)

Ahead of them was a blonde guy dressed up as Luke Skywalker. The costume was excellent, and he had a seriously awesome prop lightsabre on his belt. He adopted another pose at the direction of the shorter guy dressed as Han Solo (just as excellently) taking photos of him and bossing him around.

Luke Skywalker smiled and shook his head in a way that was long-suffering, exasperated but ultimately indulgent as Han Solo/the photographer directed him into a third pose.

(From that, it seemed like Luke had been dragged here – in costume – by Han.)

‘Almost done, Boze?’

That made Riley smile, and she moved closer to the two young men.

‘Bozer?’

Han Solo turned around, and grinned.

‘Riley?’

She nodded, and held a hand out for him to shake, which he took.

‘Nice to meet you.’ Bozer grinned wider, and she gestured at the blonde. ‘Guessing this is Mac?’

She and Bozer had been internet friends for the better part of a decade. As a result, she knew all about his crazy, mad-scientist, puppy BFF, as Bozer often described him as.

The blonde smiled and held out a hand to shake.

‘Yeah, it’s nice to meet you, Riley.’

She smiled back at him, then gestured at Jack.

‘Bozer, Mac, this is my dad, Jack Dalton. Dad, this is Bozer and Mac.’

There was another round of hand-shakes, and Jack pulled out his ‘intimidating former Delta’ look, which made Riley roll her eyes. Bozer quailed a little, clearly intimidated, while Mac just quirked an eyebrow, glancing between father and daughter.

Then, Bozer rubbed his hands together and grinned even wider.

‘Bro, you gotta show them the lightsabre!’

Mac shook his head, but chuckled and took it from his belt obligingly, pressing a button, which resulted in a beam of green light being emitted from the hilt. It looked an awful lot like a real lightsabre.

Riley and Jack looked impressed.

Bozer looked very proud, and clapped his best friend on the back.

‘My bro can actually make a lightsabre, you know! As in, it can cut through stuff, but he wouldn’t make one for Comic-Con…’ Riley raised an eyebrow at him. Bozer paused. ‘…which I guess, yeah, was a good thing, since we don’t wanna get arrested.’

‘Getting arrested _would_ put a dampener on festivities, Boze. And that was not a lightsabre; it was a high-powered laser torch.’

Jack’s brow furrowed as he tried to parse what Mac was saying.

‘Ain’t this a case of po-tah-to, po-tay-to?’

The blonde shook his head.

‘No. The most notable difference between a lightsabre and a high-powered laser torch is that the former displays the properties of a solid, capable, for example, of blocking other lightsabres. The latter is just a very powerful beam of coherent light…’

Mac continued, explaining the spatial and temporal coherence of lasers, as Jack leaned over to Riley.

‘He always like this?’

Jack sounded vaguely horrified.

Riley snorted and shrugged.

‘From what I hear, yeah.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the whole gang are nerds, not just Mac. (In the background, Riley smirks as Bozer tells Jack that ‘denial is not just a river in Egypt, bro!’ and Mac groans at the bad pun…but points out that his best friend isn’t wrong.)


	11. Eleven

**UNDISCLOSED LOCATION**

**SOUTHERN USA**

**2006**

* * *

James MacGyver watched the tearful family reunion on the other side of the glass. The DEA agent who’d supposedly flipped, betraying his country, was lying in the hospital bed, now surrounded by his wife and two children. They’d been kidnapped by a drug cartel to force him to do their bidding.

His partner ever since the _unfortunate_ incident with Walsh, Jack Dalton, finished up the phone conversation he was having.

‘...I’ll be seeing my best girls soon, promise. You know tiles don’t sell themselves. How ‘bout we go for Skee-ball and pizza once I’m home?’

He pocketed his phone, and then walked over to join Jim, gesturing with his head towards the scene on the other side of the glass, the soft smile on his face widening a touch, as the younger daughter of the DEA agent snuggled into his less-injured side.

‘All comes back to family in the end, eh?’ Jim didn’t say or do anything, but Jack, because he was _Jack,_ Jim had realized, continued anyway. ‘You got family, Jim?’

They didn’t talk much about their lives outside of work.

Correction: Jack talked plenty about his life outside work. Jim never did.

That never stopped Jack from trying to get it out of him. He was a loudmouth who didn’t know when to quit.

Attrition was an effective technique. Perhaps Jack had finally worn him down, or perhaps this case had hit too close to home.

(The DEA agent had told them, sounding defeated and regretful, that he’d thought he could keep work and family separate.)

(It had… _resonated_ with Jim.)

So, he gave a half-nod, and two words.

‘I did.’

* * *

**MISSION CITY**

**FIVE MONTHS LATER**

* * *

Jack Dalton was very annoying.

He was also very persuasive. He was _good_ at this emotional stuff that had never been Jim’s strong point.

And, in all honesty, Jim had never _quite_ been able to let go of Angus.

Never quite been able to just forget about him, despite his best efforts.

He’d stopped mentioning him, pretended externally that he didn’t exist. It hadn’t helped much, in all honesty.

He’d tried to ignore the updates that Harry kept stubbornly sending him, the ones that told him about Angus’ tenth science fair victory, or the eight-layered chocolate cake that Bozer had baked him that wasn’t a birthday cake, or the dog he’d gotten which he’d named Archimedes, or how he’d gotten kicked out of the Boy Scouts.

At least, he’d tried to ignore them at first. Now, he even looked forward to each one, read them all obsessively.

(And despite what he told himself, it wasn’t because of the plan brewing in his mind.)

(Angus was brilliant, and had clearly inherited and developed the talent, the gift, that made Jim a near-irreplaceable US operative. He was also growing into the kind of man that would run towards fires, not away from them, simply to help other people.)

(A voice in his head that sounded quite a lot like Ellen was admonishing him for thinking of manipulating his son’s - their son’s - life this way, but he argued back with it.)

(This was the safest option for Angus. He could protect him, keep an eye on him…while staying away from the boy he couldn’t relate to anymore, who made him angry, sometimes, somehow, deep inside, tugged at a wound that would probably never heal.)

Jim was still convinced that the best thing for Angus was for him to stay away.

There were his enemies, of course. There was the man he’d become after Ellen’s death, who’d surely damage his son in some way if he tried to raise him.

He didn’t think he was a good influence anymore. (Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been.) Angus got his greatness from him, but his _goodness_? That was all Ellen, and Harry, and Bozer and Arthur Ericson.

But he wasn’t sure, completely certain, about any of those things anymore. Not like he had been when he’d left.

Jack had nagged and lectured a little and had (or tried to) many heart-to-hearts with him.

And slowly but surely, the Texan had gotten through. Jack had not quite changed his mind, but he’d put enough doubts there, enough new _maybes_ that seemed plausible enough.

That Jim could protect his son from just about any threat, and Jack (and Matty) were there to watch his back, watch Angus’, help out.

That the first step to being a good father was just being there.

That no matter how convinced he was that he’d damage his son, he was damaging him more by abandoning him.

(Jack didn’t know about Jim’s plans for Angus. Jim suspected he’d argue they were even more damaging to Angus’ psyche.)

That underneath his ‘pain in the ass, I’m smarter than all of you’ superior attitude and his ‘emotional constipation’ and ‘serious festering guilt and regret and grief etc., _really, man you gotta actually deal with that, instead of avoiding it_ ’ over Ellen’s death, he was still a good man, it was just admittedly really well hidden and hard to see.

Therefore, Jim was driving through Mission City, towards the house that’d once been home.

Jack, in the passenger seat, polished off the last of his jalapeno beef jerky (Jim had bought it for him to keep him reasonably quiet), and spoke.

‘Where we going, partner?’

Jim made a turn, keeping his voice neutral.

‘You’ll see.’

Jack studied him for a moment, clearly able to tell that it’d been a fight to keep his voice neutral. Then, because he was Jack Dalton, and he had an uncanny sense of when to push and when not to, he rolled his eyes dramatically, gesticulating just as dramatically.

‘Seriously, man, we’ve talked about this! It is really annoying when you do that!’

* * *

They pulled up in front of the house, and Jim undid his seatbelt, before turning to Jack.

‘Stay here.’

He said it like there was a _please_ at the end. Jack, who’d definitely realized what was going on, as he’d been silent for the last couple of miles, just nodded, and smiled at him, in a way that seemed encouraging and proud, and above all, simply happy for his partner. He reached out and clasped Jim’s shoulder for a moment, and the older man gave a single nod, before getting out of the car, walking up to the front door and ringing the doorbell.

* * *

If Jack had had any doubts as to the significance of this house and this moment, they would have been dispelled as soon as the door was opened.

Standing on the other side was a teenage boy of around fourteen or fifteen. He was blonde and blue-eyed, unlike Jim, but there were many similarities in their facial structure, their builds, the way they carried themselves.

And the boy had a streak of grease on his cheek and was holding a Swiss Army knife and staring at Jim like he was a ghost.

* * *

Father and son stared at each other for a long, long moment.

Angus’ expression was angry and hurt and disbelieving and a tiny, tiny bit hopeful, all at once.

Unexpectedly, Jim felt a lump in his throat, and a lot more emotion than he’d have expected in this moment.

Angus had grown. He wasn’t a little boy anymore, not like he’d still been when he’d left. He was very much a teenager, growing into a man, now, taller, skinny with too-long legs.

Harry had sent him pictures, but it just wasn’t the same.

Eventually, Angus broke the silence.

‘ _Dad_?’

It was much lower in pitch than he remembered. His voice had broken.

More proof of everything that he’d missed, a sad little voice in his mind that sounded an awful lot like Ellen told him.

Jim swallowed that stubborn lump in his throat as best as he could.

‘Son…’ He swallowed again. ‘There’s…there’s a lot we need to talk about.’

* * *

Jack sat in the car for six hours.

It was like a stakeout, he reflected, as he polished off the third bag of snacks that Jim had apparently hidden in the car for this purpose.

He was just considering whether to leave a message for Jim and go to that Burger Nirvana place they’d passed on the way when his partner knocked on the window.

Jack would never, ever mention it, but Jim looked a little bit like he’d been crying. Well, maybe not _crying_ , but at least a little teary.

He also looked much lighter.

‘Come meet him, Jack.’

He heard the _I owe you_ in Jim’s voice just fine.

Jack smiled and hopped out of the car.

* * *

Jack walked into the living room, following his partner. There was an old man sitting in one of the armchairs, with vividly blue eyes and a frankly impressive quantity of grey hair, who was presumably Jim’s father-in-law.

Sitting on the couch, fiddling with some paperclips from a bowl that was on the coffee table for some reason, was Jim’s son.

‘Harry, Angus, this is my partner, Jack Dalton.’ Jim gestured between them. ‘And Jack, this is my father-in-law, Harry, and my son, Angus.’

Harry nodded and smiled at him warmly, gratefully, shaking Jack’s hand with a surprisingly firm grip. When Angus shook his hand, he spoke quietly, sounding very young.

‘Did you really annoy my dad into coming back?’

Jack smiled at the boy, wide and surprisingly soft, even as his words were silly and teasing.

‘I’m real annoying, brother.’ His smile grew more teasing, lighter. ‘ _Real, real_ annoying. It’s my middle name!’

Jack expected Angus to quip back at him, say something along the lines of, _your name is Jack Annoying Dalton?_

Instead, in a way that was probably reflective of how young he still was (despite how, Jack was sure, he’d insist that he wasn’t a kid anymore, just like Riley did) and how badly Jim’s departure had hurt him (and hence how right Jack had been to push), Angus flung his arms around him for a hug.

‘ _Thank you._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have always wondered what it’d be like if Jack and Jim were actually friends. And yes, you can assume that this was all orchestrated by Matty, who knew a certain CIA agent would be very good for a certain egghead spy…


	12. Twelve

 

**MISSION CITY BOYS’ BAKERY**

**LA**

**2016**

* * *

Jack stood outside the buzzing bakery which had been recommended by his former boss who was now also his current boss, Matty Webber.

(He’d left the CIA, where he’d been a field agent, after a messy incident involving her and Chechnya, re-enlisting in the Army. Then, eight years ago, after a very hard and painfully life-changing rotation culminating in a fateful day in Colombia, he’d wound up at the CIA again, again under her command, but this time, as a trainer and intel and tactical guy.)

(Fieldwork wasn’t really something he could do anymore.)

Jack walked over to the bakery door and opened it. His knee ached, and he probably should have brought his cane, since it was drizzling outside, as much as he hated that thing.

(His knee always hurt more when it rained. He didn’t know why.)

Still, he walked over to the counter, limping a little (PT worked wonders, but not miracles), and waited in line.

Matty said this was the best bakery in all of LA, and Caleb deserved the best birthday cake money could buy. The whole unit agreed whole-heartedly on that.

* * *

‘Oh, hey, Mr Dalton. What can I get you?’ The cashier/server in front of him gestured at a case full of various pastries, and leaned forward, a little conspiratorially. ‘The eclairs are _amazing_.’

The cashier/server, it turned out, was his neighbour’s son. Small world.

Jack smiled at the teen. Tommy was a good kid, at heart, if not a little mischievous. At least, he had been (he’d once stolen all of Jack’s stuff on a dare while he was away on a Vegas trip with the squad), until a few months ago. His mom had mentioned something about a job, but he hadn’t expected it to be in a bakery.

‘Hey, Tommy.’ He paused and studied the cases of delicious baked goods for a moment. ‘Yeah, get me one of those eclairs, but I’m here to order a cake.’

Tommy nodded, grabbing an éclair with a piece of wax paper, then ringing it up.

‘You’re gonna have to talk to Mac and Bozer, my bosses, about the cake, I’ll go get them from the back for you…’

* * *

Jack had just finished scarfing down the amazing éclair and was contemplating buying another one when Tommy returned from the back, followed by a young, fairly stocky African-American guy in a purple chef’s coat and purple plaid pants, and an even younger, lean, blonde guy wearing chinos and a more standard white chef’s coat, hair mostly covered by a bandana.

The baker in purple rubbed his hands together and grinned.

‘So, I heard you got a special order for us?’ He paused, and gestured at himself, then the blonde. ‘I’m Bozer, this is my BFF Mac, and we’re the Mission City Boys, by the way!’

Mac just shook his head, a rather exasperated, long-suffering but affectionate smile on his face.

‘I think he’s gathered that, Boze.’

Jack just smiled too, and gestured at the crumbs of éclair on the wax paper square in front of him vaguely.

‘Yeah, I want to order a 36th birthday cake for one of the guys from my unit. Something real special. Heard you guys were the ones for the job.’ That got a bit of a reaction from Mac, a little nod, with something in his eyes that seemed to say that he _got_ it. Understood why Jack was ordering an expensive custom cake for a non-milestone birthday. ‘And I think I’ll get another one of these eclairs, too, they’re real great…’

Bozer grinned, rather proudly, and gestured at his best friend.

‘My bro made ‘em, fresh this morning.’ He stage-whispered at Jack. ‘He’s got a serious talent with choux pastry. You should see his croquembouches!’

Mac could build a six foot tall croquembouche. Somehow.

(Bozer didn’t quite get _how_ he did it, just knew that it involved a crazy amount of maths and physics and Mac muttering heaps of things under his breath that Bozer didn’t get and scribbling over their supply of baking paper with what looked mostly like gibberish to everyone else.)

* * *

Even after Caleb’s birthday party (at which the cake was very well-received, particularly by the birthday boy himself), Jack wound up spending a lot of time at Mission City Boys’ Bakery.

It became a hang-out spot of choice for himself, Ryan and Caleb (the members of their unit, affectionately nicknamed ‘Dalton’s Heroes’ by other Delta teams, who lived in LA), as well as any of the other boys who were in town.

He got to know the other regulars: Cynthia and Scott, who were in the Air Force, Leanna Martin, who worked at a law firm down the block, Samantha Cage, a co-worker of his and an Aussie expat, Patricia Thornton, who was Director of a think-tank and seemingly cold-blooded, but had a serious soft-spot for anything containing Mac’s amazing dark chocolate ganache.

And, very memorably, Jill Morgan and her business partner Riley Davis, who ran an IT start-up.

(Riley was his ex-girlfriend Diane’s daughter, and the closest thing he’d ever had to a child of his own.)

(He had also left her and her mother after throwing around her dad to stop him from hurting them, so it was _complicated,_ to say the least.)

(Eventually, they’d smoothed things over. Mac’s attempt to help by talking to Riley had made it worse, but his apple pie and Bozer’s eight-layered chocolate cake made it kind of impossible to be really mad at anyone.)

And he’d gotten to know Mac and Bozer, and their story. How they’d become best friends in the fifth grade and had stuck together ever since. He heard stories about how Mac was a little terror (all of Mission City knew to duck for cover when he got bored) and about his dog Archimedes and his grandfather who’d practically raised him and Donnie Sandoz and his gang and Darlene Martin and the Prom Incident and even the infamous Football Field Incident. He heard hints of childhood tragedy, for both boys – Mac’s mom died when he was five, his dad left when he was ten, both of them were not the biggest fans of guns, and there was something very visceral in it for Bozer, very _lived._

(Jack had some idea – Mac had had to take over making a policeman birthday cake for a little boy named Josh, despite the fact that Bozer usually did the fine detail-work, especially anything involving a face.)

(Still, he respected not wanting to talk about it. There were some things that were strictly off-limits for him, too.)

Mac, it turned out, was a vet, just like Jack’s instincts had suggested to them the day they’d met.

He’d been an EOD tech, dropping out of MIT to serve. Three years in, he’d been medically discharged along with his EOD partner Charlie Robinson due to injuries they’d sustained from an IED while pursuing a bombmaker in Afghanistan.

Jack had asked him if they’d gotten the man. Mac had gotten a thousand-yard stare in his eyes, swallowed and nodded, and just said that he was dead. He’d left it at that and gone back to filling red velvet cupcakes using the cupcake-corer-on-steroids he’d invented.

Jack hadn’t pushed, but he’d done some digging, asked a couple of discreet questions.

Mac and Charlie Robinson had been pursuing a deadly, elusive and very wanted bombmaker called The Ghost. They were a famous duo, who’d set a company record for most IEDs disarmed on a day that was known as The Day of the Thousand IEDs, saving countless lives.

Many of those IEDs were attributed to The Ghost or his men, and that was where the rumours started. Some said that he killed Mac’s training officer, one Alfred Pena, sparking Mac’s obsession with the bombmaker. Fewer said that the obsession had started earlier, when The Ghost had killed a dozen civilians. Some said that it wasn’t even Mac who’d gotten obsessed with The Ghost, but The Ghost who’d become obsessed with him.

No matter what, it was definitely agreed upon that Mac and Charlie had been tasked with chasing him down, and that they’d succeeded (in a way – they’d been supposed to capture him, but he’d wound up dead), though at great cost to themselves.

No details were available, though, as to _how_ that’d all played out. Jack heard a whiff of a rumour that British Intelligence was somehow involved, and an even tinier hint of a scandal, but it was all highly classified and compartmentalized.

What he _did_ know was that whatever had happened, Mac and Charlie had received Purple Hearts, Charlie a Bronze Star and Mac a Silver Star, and that Mac had come home for good with a case of PTSD.

Bozer had, in a very Bozer way, looked after the younger man, stuffed him full of good food and comfort and lightness and humour, and did everything he could to help Mac reacclimatise to civilian life and recover.

One of those things had been to teach his BFF to bake, since, apparently, Mac couldn’t make a simple meal without setting off the fire alarm, but Bozer figured baking might go better, as it was really maths and chemistry, after all.

That had snowballed (Mac, it turned out, was really good at _all_ forms of maths and chemistry and enjoyed baking), and Mission City Boys’ Bakery had been born.

* * *

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION CHARITY GALA BALL**

**LA**

**2017**

* * *

Jack, who was wearing his best suit, sat in the corner drinking beer with Ryan Thorpe and Caleb Worthy, both also in their best suits, and Olivia Worthy, in a very nice dress. Riley had convinced Diane to come dance with her, Jill, Leanna and Bozer, and the little group was laughing in a way that made Jack smile fondly, softly.

The Phoenix was a charitable organization run by the CEO of a biomedical engineering firm who was a very talented biomedical engineer himself that sought to help amputees, people who relied on dialysis, the deaf and others who needed medical technology to survive or live their lives to the fullest, in a practical way by improving the tech they needed and improving their access to the tech. It was the same firm that Ryan worked for (he was in product testing and marketing), and he also volunteered for the Phoenix. He’d roped Jack and Caleb into it a few years’ back.

This year, Jack had also roped Mac and Bozer into it, though the two had needed no encouragement or persuasion whatsoever to donate a frankly astounding quantity of baked treats. Jack’s smile widened a little more. Last he’d seen Mac, he’d been talking to some of the engineers from Taylor Biomedical, about something to do with improving the articulation (at least, Jack thought the word was articulation) in the knee joints of prosthetic legs. Napkin scribbling had been involved, as well as a lot of excited gestures.

The little group finished off their drinks, and Jack volunteered to go get refills.

When he returned, Caleb and Olivia had gone off to dance, and Diane was taking a breather from dancing, while Ryan was having a conversation with a pretty young brunette in a simple, pale-pink dress. It sounded like they were talking about some of the engineering in Ryan’s wheelchair, which Jack only knew something about because Ryan talked about it from time to time, and Ryan only knew something about because it was _his_ wheelchair and he tested and sold them for a living.

When Jack came up to them and passed Diane a glass of white wine and Ryan a beer, setting the rest of the drinks on a table beside them, both Ryan and the pretty brunette smiled at him in greeting, and Ryan gestured between them.

‘Jack, this is Dr Beth Taylor, Beth, this is Jack, from my old team.’

They shook hands, and exchanged pleasantries, before conversation somehow turned from Ryan’s wheelchair to Beth’s recent return from serving with MSF in Syria.

‘…it’s a lot more messed up there, Doc, then it was when we were there in…’ Ryan gave a sheepish smirk. ‘…well, I’d tell you, but then Jack and I would have to kill you.’

That got a half-laugh from the young woman, a moment of finding light in darkness, perhaps (something that any soldier, and, Jack now suspected, ER doctors like Beth, understood well), before her expression grew more serious and she nodded.

‘It’s certainly become more politically complicated.’ She took a fruit tart from a passing server. ‘Thanks.’ Jack and Ryan took one each too, and they all bit into them. Beth’s eyes brightened and she smiled like a kid on Christmas morning. ‘These are _amazing.’_

And at that moment _, the_ brilliant idea hit Jack.

(Mac probably felt like that all the time. Now he totally got why Mac didn’t explain what was going on half the time, too, ‘cause it was pretty cool to do a dramatic reveal, and it hit so fast, there probably wasn’t time anyway, and it was kinda…consuming.)

‘Yeah, they’re real special.’ He paused. ‘Actually, me and Ryan know the guy who baked ‘em…’ Mac did more of the pastry, Bozer was better with the cakes. ‘…want an introduction?’

Diane raised an eyebrow at him, a knowing and ultimately fond little smile on her face. Jack just smiled back, an expression that managed to be soft and affectionate, yet also carry more than a touch of a smirk in it.

(If anyone deserved a fairytale happy ending, in Jack’s mind, it was Angus MacGyver. A little meddling in that direction couldn’t hurt, he figured.)

* * *

An hour later, Jack, with Diane, casually swung by where he’d left the newly-introduced Mac and Beth, with the excuse that he’d promised Diane a dance.

The two of them were sitting there, heads close together and generally oblivious to the world, deeply involved in a conversation that appeared to be about whether one could actually stab a person with a stiletto heel.

There was napkin scribbling involved, and enthusiastic chatter, impressed looks and the occasional laugh or giggle.

(Bozer thought Mac’s romance game needed work. Jack had agreed with that, at least until now. It was _weird_ , but it really did seem to be _working_.)

That made Jack smile, and Diane leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, soft and fond and a little proud, before tugging him away to go sit down and give his knee a break…and the two young people some privacy.

(Family did tend to be a little too involved in each other’s business.)

* * *

That night, as they waited for their cars to be brought around, Jack noticed what looked an awful lot like a paper napkin tucked into one of Mac’s suit pockets.

He smirked at the younger man, gesturing with his head to the slightly-protruding paper napkin.

‘What’s that, brother?’

Mac noticed that it was sticking out slightly, and shoved the napkin deeper into his pocket.

‘Uh…nothing. Just some, uh, maths. Calculations.’

Jack’s smirk widened. Mac was a _terrible_ liar.

‘Numbers? Or _a_ number?’

Mac shot him a _look._ Jack remained utterly unapologetic. Eventually, Mac cracked.

‘Yes.’ He paused, shooting Jack a firm look. ‘It’s just a number.’

Jack smirked, waggling his eyebrows in a way that made Mac roll his eyes.

‘For now.’

* * *

**MISSION CITY BOYS’ BAKERY**

**LA**

**ONE MONTH LATER**

* * *

Jack came in for an éclair after work, and found Bozer at the counter, grinning proudly.

The purple-clad baker just pointed at a quiet table at the back of the eating area.

‘My bro’s all grown up! He’s come so far since Darlene Martin…’

Bozer actually sniffled.

Jack turned to look, then raised an eyebrow and snorted, muttering something under his breath about Mac never doing anything the _normal_ way.

Spread out over the large table was Mac’s newly-invented cupcake-assembling-machine. (It cored, filled, frosted and decorated cooled cupcakes.) He was enthusiastically demonstrating its function and explaining the science behind it (in great detail that none of them, no matter how much they loved Mac, were really all that interested in) to Beth, who was listening with great interest. As the first of the cupcakes rolled off the machine, she grinned and clapped her hands together, spinning around to say something obviously complimentary at Mac.

‘ _That_ is the weirdest way of wooing a woman I have ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot of wooing attempts.’ Jack paused. ‘And tried a lot of ways myself.’

Bozer shrugged, a little incredulously.

‘And it’s actually really working.’ Bozer’s expression grew softer, fonder. ‘My homeboy’s the weirdest, but he’s the best.’

Jack smiled wider, raising the éclair that Bozer had set down on the counter for him.

‘Amen to that, man. Amen to that.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one seriously threatened to spiral out of control into a proper fic, hence why it’s so long and extends beyond Mac and Jack actually meeting. Don’t ask me why baker!Mac and baker!Bozer was the one to do it (though the boy-band AU is really beginning to threaten to take over my brain). The only decent explanation I can come up with is that I watch too much Food Network…


	13. Thirteen

**MISSION CITY**

**(BUT NOT AS WE KNOW IT)**

**2015**

* * *

Mac, dressed head-to-toe in the black-and-blue Kevlar-and-Nomex costume of his recently-adopted alter-ego, Nightwing, ran silently along the dark rooftops.

As it had every time he went out on a mission in the last six months, it felt strange being on his own.

He wasn’t accustomed to being a solo operator.

_You might know me as Robin, Batman’s apprentice-slash-sidekick. I had a much more eye-catching costume then._

_We were the dynamic duo, fighting crime in LA, protecting the innocent and putting the bad guys away._

_Vigilantes with tacit government approval and really high approval ratings._

_We were a really good team._

_Until I finally found out that the man who’d been training me ever since I was thirteen years old, who’d taught me a dozen martial arts, the skills of a master detective, at least half of my survival skills and a few more handy tricks, but who never, ever told me his name or revealed his face, for what he said was the safety of his family, was my dad._

_The dad who’d left me just days before my tenth birthday._

_As you can imagine, that threw a spanner in the works._

_And yeah, that’s an understatement._

_I couldn’t work with a man I couldn’t trust._

_So here I am, striking out on my own._

Jill had intel that a couple of crime bosses were having a very secure meeting in this part of town tonight.

She was rarely wrong.

He made his way to a building adjacent to the warehouse being used for the meeting, as far as Jill knew.

All was quiet, apparently.

His keen eyes noticed three men with AK-47s, hidden in strategic locations. There was a fourth man a block down the street, in the guise of a rough sleeper, but Mac had passed by him earlier, and the clothes he was wearing, while worn and dirty, had been deliberately and artificially made so, not naturally.

Together, it was a set-up well-capable of stopping any would-be attackers.

Mac gave a small smirk.

_Well, most would-be attackers._

He glanced around the rooftop, looking for something useful. His eyes were caught by a barbecue, probably belonging to the residents of the building he was on, and a planter box. He grabbed his Swiss Army knife and walked over to get to work, an idea dropping out of the mass of ideas and thoughts in his brain.

* * *

_You know what they say about best-laid plans…_

* * *

Mac cursed internally after his distraction down the block went off, and two of the men with AK-47s ran in the direction of their ‘homeless’ colleague.

The distraction seemed to be going exactly as it should be, and would hopefully lead to the men getting caught in his trap, but the man dressed in a black hoodie and jeans who’d emerged from the shadows and was walking drunkenly towards the warehouse definitely wasn’t part of the plan.

This was a situation far too dangerous for any civilian.

Putting the sedative dart he intended for the third guard back in one of his utility belt pockets, Mac leapt off the roof, landing on a dumpster in the alleyway, before jumping gracefully off that and running towards where the guard had raised his gun at the drunk, pulling out his telescoping staff as he did so. The guard, preoccupied with the drunk, who was pointing at the guard and gesticulating angrily, didn’t even hear his stealthy approach, and was quickly knocked out with a well-placed strike of Mac’s staff.

As the man crumpled like a sack of potatoes and Mac turned his attention to the drunk (he had to get him to safety before he went to capture the crime bosses), the man pulled back his hood and gestured at the guard in annoyance.

‘Come on, man, I had him!’

As emphasis, he pulled back his hoodie sleeve, revealing what looked like a plasma gun in place of his hand and arm.

With a click-whirr noise, the plasma gun folded in on itself, becoming a metal hand.

Mac blinked. It was rare to see technology he didn’t fully understand or recognize. Very, very rare.

The man grinned, but it was a rather bitter expression.

‘Pretty cool, eh?’ He patted his arm with the other hand. ‘She’s a growler.’

The two of them studied each other for a moment, each liking what they saw.

(Mac was a pretty good judge of character – Batman had trained him to be – even if he tended to see the best in people, the good in them.)

(And Jill had briefed him on what appeared to be another vigilante in town. A wanted terrorist had been found dead with injuries that were, in hindsight, consistent with a plasma gun. Two Mafia dons had been delivered to police with similar injuries.)

(She was probably nudging him to find a partner, someone to watch his back in the field.)

They both gave a small, rather decisive nod, and the man with the plasma gun arm gestured with his head towards the warehouse.

‘You here for the Godfather wannabes?’

Mac nodded, and the man grinned at him. This time, it wasn’t bitter, but genuine and surprisingly bright.

‘Whaddya say we team up? Enemy of my enemy is my friend and all…’

Mac raised an eyebrow at the man, an action that was not completely clear under the domino mask he wore.

‘I would hope that we’re straight-up allies, not enemies teaming up against a common one.’

The man studied him for another moment.

‘You trying to protect this town, keep her good people safe?’ Mac nodded seriously, earnestly. The man studied him a moment, then nodded in kind, before grinning yet again. ‘Well, then this might be the start of a beautiful partnership, brother. I’m Cyborg.’

‘Nightwing.’

They turned their attention back to the warehouse.

‘You go right, I’ll go left, man?’

With a little smile, Mac nodded. Cyborg raised his plasma gun again, while Mac got to work picking the lock of the warehouse door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had a _Teen Titans_


	14. Fourteen

**SIN CITY**

**(A VERY POPULAR DESTINATION FOR BACHELOR PARTIES)**

**2012**

* * *

On a Thursday night in Vegas, Jack looked up as the elevator stopped and a couple of young guys, one of which didn’t even look old enough to drink, walked in, deep in conversation.

Mentally, he dismissed them as college kids on Spring Break, and instead grinned as he wondered what Ethan and Worthy and the squad had whipped up for his stag do.

* * *

Mac just shook his head with a smile at Bozer as they rode the elevator down to the lobby to meet Charlie, a couple of Mac’s other EOD friends, Carlos, Smitty and the rest of Mac’s male engineering buddies for his bachelor party.

His best friend was complaining about the fact that Mac wasn’t yet twenty-one, so couldn’t drink.

‘…just saying, bro, you couldn’t wait another month? I could’ve planned an even more epic stag night for you!’

‘I’m sure this one will be epic anyway, Boze.’ Mac smirked a touch sheepishly. ‘Between my next deployment, and Beth’s school schedule, Saturday was the only day we had for the wedding that’d allow us a honeymoon.’

Bozer considered that for a moment, before nodding. Then he made a bit of a face.

(There were some things one preferred to not know about your BFF. Honeymoon activities was definitely one of them.)

‘Yeah, you’re right, bro.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘I don’t need booze to ensure your bachelorhood gets an awesomely epic send-off!’ He slapped Mac on the arm and sniffled. ‘My homeboy’s all grown up!’

The brunette man who looked to be in his late thirties in the elevator with them raised his brows sceptically at Mac.

‘Aren’t you a little young to be signing up for the ol’ ball and chain?’

Mac sighed internally, but crossed his arms and tried very hard not to let it get to him.

He was _really_ sick of being asked some kind of iteration of that question. So was Beth.

(In fact, they were both honestly sick of being asked if they were too young for anything. It happened quite a lot.)

It was fine, coming from well-meaning family, like their parents or Bozer, who just wanted to make sure they weren’t rushing into something they’d regret later.

They’d explained their reasons in response, honestly and openly, and gotten understanding and blessings in return.

(They’d known each other for nearly as long as they could remember, loved each other in some way or another since they were five, been together since they were fifteen. They’d made their way through tough times: Donnie Sandoz’s bullying and self-esteem issues, nearly three years of particularly tricky long-distance while he was in the Army and she was at medical school, his deployments and what he saw, the different-yet-somehow-similar horrors and tragedies she saw on hospital rotations, Al’s death. They’d spent their whole lives being _too young_ , anyway. They’d _promised_ one another that they were in this for the long haul, that they chose each other and would continue to do so. He was in the Army and she’d nearly lost him, and yes, they were young, but they didn’t want to waste time. It was _precious_.)

But he wasn’t interested in hearing it from a random stranger who didn’t know him at all.

‘The legal age of marriage without parental consent is eighteen in all but two US states, and is such in all states relevant to myself and my fiancée.’

At that moment, the elevator arrived in the lobby, and thankfully, any potential conversation between him and the nosy loudmouth stranger was forestalled.

* * *

As he waited in the lobby for his friends, Jack couldn’t help but think a little about the blonde kid who was apparently getting married despite not being old enough to drink.

He also couldn’t help but think of his beautiful, ass-kicking badass future wife.

Sarah would probably have shot him a glare reminiscent of Matty the Hun and kicked his butt particularly hard next time they sparred if he’d referred to her as a ‘ball and chain’. She probably would have called _him_ that in retaliation, in just the latest incarnation of the sometimes-fiery, quick-witted, never-ending, teasing bickering that was their particular form of flirting.

(They were both stubborn and passionate and wore their hearts on their sleeves. So very alike, in many ways.)

She would agree with him that twenty, almost-twenty-one was way too young to be settling down. That was the time for being wild and free, being able to do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted, for sowing your wild oats, metaphorically speaking.

Then, once you were properly grown, had realized that there were things better than that (a lesson, in Jack’s mind, that you needed to learn with age, nothing else – which he was sure Sarah would agree with)…you found the right one and settled down. Or, at least, got as settled as you ever would.

(Jack Dalton and Sarah Adler were never going to become boring and domestic, to say the least, married or not.)

He raised the glass of whiskey that Ethan handed him in a toast, grinning.

* * *

Another two whiskies later, and Jack was wondering if that kid had a point.

He and Sarah had almost missed each other, almost become each other’s one-who-got-away, each other’s biggest regret.

It was just by chance they’d reconnected when he’d re-joined the CIA, a little older, a little wiser, and both unattached.

Both no longer convinced that the other one would always be there, no longer with a partnership that they were too scared to risk, too scared of screwing up.

They’d wasted so many years.

He shook himself out of those melancholy thoughts as Caleb gave a toast to the end of Jack’s bachelorhood.

(The words _at long last_ were involved.)

They had the rest of their lives, and that would be enough.

More than enough.

* * *

Still, a couple of hours and a fair few whiskies later, when he ran into the blonde and his friend in the elevator, he grinned at the other groom-to-be and raised his bottle of Gatorade in a toast.

‘Congratulations, son.’ He pointed sagely at him as best as he could. ‘Few minutes with the right one’s better than a lifetime with the wrong ‘un, but a whole life with the right one’s gotta be the best.’

The blonde, who was completely sober and would doubtlessly feel way better in the morning than Jack, smiled back at him, warmly, genuinely.

‘Thanks. Congratulations to you and your wife too.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note for anyone who is a little obsessed with details and continuity (like me) - in this story, as in my _The Path Not Taken_ AU and several of my other AUs, I’ve taken Mac’s birthday to be in early April 1991. The month comes from best guess based on the airdate of 1.18, Flashlight, in which Mac’s birthday is celebrated (early March), in combination with what is said in 1.21, Cigar Cutter. (Bozer mentions something along the lines of it being along eight months, so taking the show’s ‘present day’ canon to have started in late September, when the show premiered, it was late April at that time.) The year is just something I picked personally as the show can’t agree on when Mac was born and frequently contradicts itself.
> 
> In 1.04, Wire Cutter, Mac says he was born after the KGB was disbanded, which means he must have been born after December 3rd 1991. As Mac’s birthday is clearly not in December, that means his birthday is at earliest in 1992.
> 
> In 1.18, Flashlight, he says that he would be 14 with 231 days until his next birthday if he lived on Mars. This is 27.6 Earth years, which has to be wrong, but it works out to be 27 years if you replace ‘until’ with ‘since’. Ergo, according to that ep, Mac is born in 1990.
> 
> In 2.11, Bullet + Pen, we find out that he enlisted in the Army in 2009. Ergo, Mac could not have been born any later than 1991. (Side-note: his honourable discharge was in 2012 and he says he spent three years disarming bombs for the Army in 1.01, The Rising, but we found out in 3.11, Mac + Fallout + Jack, that in March 2012 he was already working for the DXS, so there’s probably a little ‘rounding’ in there and/or the DXS probably chucked him in the deep end and/or the military paperwork took a while to process…) 
> 
> In 2.23, MacGyver + MacGyver, Jack says to James that Mac’s been wondering where he went for the last fifteen years. Now, given that Mac is Mac and that surely any kid would start wondering where their dad went if he disappeared suddenly, that means that it’s been fifteen years since James left. Now, the show has had a contradiction in terms of when Mac’s dad left – in 1.02, Jack originally said it was when he was twelve, which they changed to ten in 1.18, Flashlight, and have used consistently ever since. Going off that, Mac must have been born in 1993. Going off what Jack originally said, he was born in 1991.
> 
> In 3.04, Guts + Fuel + Hope, Mac says that it’s been eighteen years since his dad left. If his dad left when he was ten, that makes Mac twenty-eight in 2018, which makes 1990 as his year of birth. (Though, if it’s a rough estimate/rounded to the nearest year or so, since Guts + Fuel + Hope takes place probably in about mid-late October and Mac’s birthday is in March or April, you could probably argue that 1991 also works?) 
> 
> In conclusion – depending on what you take as ‘correct’ and what you choose to ignore, Mac could have been born anywhere from 1990 to 1993. I picked 1991 as I thought it fit the best with all the info we have – I mean, maybe Mac has inside knowledge about when the KGB ceased to function (and it was earlier than the ‘official’ date), it works with his military enlistment, it kinda works with what he told Riley and if Jack is consistently incorrect about when Mac’s dad left, it also works?


	15. Fifteen

**AFGHANISTAN**

**2011**

* * *

As Mac and Charlie drove towards Sector 11, Mac quite suddenly spoke, breaking the silence, voice full of realization. His brain, constantly noticing and processing stimuli, often unconsciously, had noticed something, something wrong, and he could only hope it wasn’t too late.

‘Charlie, he wasn’t disarming that bomb. He was setting it.’

Charlie turned to look at his junior partner, expression grave.

‘You sure, Mac?’

Mac nodded, and without hesitation, Charlie grabbed the radio.

‘This is Cutter 29, we got a situation in Gardez, Sector Eight…’

He might be the youngest and most junior of them all, but Charlie and Pena and most of the other EOD techs knew that Mac was one of the best of them all. If not _the_ best.

* * *

The fake soldiers were gone when they returned to the street, but the bomb was still very much there, validating Mac’s suspicions.

He and Charlie exchanged a glance. It wasn’t often that Mac wanted to be wrong, but this was one time he was.

Charlie nodded and raised his radio to call it in, searching the area for more devices, while Mac got to work on the one in front of him.

* * *

The device neutralized, Mac sat back on his haunches.

It was then that he caught a flash of something familiar.

A head of greying hair. The height and build seemed familiar too, even if the man was wearing traditional Afghani dress.

He was walking away from the scene, not rushing, but purposeful, like he intended to be somewhere else.

That in itself wasn’t suspicious, and why would the bombmaker hang around after he’d set his device?

But Mac’s gut told him that this was the guy. This was the man he’d seen setting the IED while pretending to disarm it.

He got up and gave chase, gesturing quickly to Charlie, who followed, accustomed to the way he worked and willing to trust Mac and his brain and his gut.

* * *

They followed the man into a nearby house, in a seemingly abandoned compound of sorts.

The figure, standing in a door that doubtlessly led through a rabbit warren of rooms and houses, turned slightly as Mac was just stepping through the doorway into the house.

He tossed something from his belt, and Mac’s eyes widened.

He turned tail and tackled Charlie, who was following just behind him, to the ground.

‘Grenade!’

There was a loud explosion behind them.

When the smoke and dust cleared, the man was long gone.

But Mac now had an image seared into his mind.

A face.

* * *

**DXS HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

**LESS THAN 24 HOURS LATER**

* * *

Jack walked into the war room, where Thornton was speaking to Nikki. The young blonde woman nodded at their boss, before walking out of the room, smiling and waggling her fingers at Jack as she left.

Jack, meanwhile, took a seat in one of the armchairs.

‘Got something for me, boss?’

Thornton nodded, her face as serious as ever. She tapped the big screen, and a dozen ‘Wanted’ notices from governments all over the world popped up.

Interestingly, there wasn’t a single photo of the wanted man.

‘The Ghost is a bombmaker for hire, one of the best in the world. He’s wanted by more than fifteen governments, but unfortunately, no-one has a physical description of him.’

Jack sucked in a breath.

‘Really lives up to his name, doesn’t he, Patty?’

Thornton quirked an eyebrow at him slightly at the nickname (it was kinda a personal mission of Jack’s to get his really uptight, by-the-book, overly-serious boss to relax and let her hair down), but continued the briefing anyway.

‘Yes. He’s been a ghost, until now.’ She tapped the screen, and an Army service record appeared, of a very young, very blonde and very good-looking EOD tech named Angus MacGyver. ‘The Ghost and his men have been impersonating a US EOD team. They took advantage of the chaos called by the newly-dubbed Day of the 1000 IEDs.’ Jack nodded. He knew how in a knife-edged situation where combat was always just moments away, chaos was often as big an enemy as the bad guys with guns. ‘MacGyver noticed that the EOD team he and his partner encountered were not disarming an IED, but setting it and called it in. After disarming said IED, he noticed a man fitting the physical description of the fake tech setting the explosive, apparently watching. He and his partner gave chase. They lost him, but MacGyver swears he got a good look at his face.’

Jack crossed his arms, looking evaluative, a little sceptical.

‘You reckon he did?’

Thornton glanced between the young EOD tech on the screen and Jack.

‘I don’t know.’ That made Jack raise his brows and give her a look. Patty was the best in the business. She shot him a look back, and just continued. ‘But this is the best lead on The Ghost that we or any allied government has ever had.’ She held out a tablet to Jack, doubtlessly with a more detailed briefing on it. ‘You’re wheels up for Afghanistan in an hour.’

* * *

**AFGHANISTAN**

**36 HOURS LATER**

* * *

‘…I know what I saw, and I _swear_ , this is him.’ MacGyver pointed at the print-out of the sketch that the sketch artist he’d video-conferenced with had produced. ‘If that IED had gone off, it would have taken out the whole block.’ His expression grew very set. Stubborn. ‘We _need_ to find him before he kills American soldiers, innocents or _children_!’

Jack studied the very young man for a long moment.

MacGyver spoke with great seriousness, focus. There was desperation in there, which Jack didn’t blame him for, since the brass thought the kid was crazy, since no-one had ever seen The Ghost’s face. (While glad that he’d disarmed that bomb and exposed the fact that there were fake EOD techs running around, they thought he was either attention-seeking or wanted a promotion or a medal or something.) Jack could also see a touch of _obsession_ in the younger man’s blue eyes.

The brass’s reaction was completely contrasted by the reaction of the EODs in the company, to a man, from MacGyver’s training officer Pena to his partner on the day, Robinson, to techs who’d only paired with him once or twice. Each and every one of them stood by MacGyver, insisting that his crazy big brain could memorize a face with just a glance, could notice little things that other people couldn’t, and insisting that he would never, ever claim that he could identify The Ghost if he couldn’t. He wasn’t in this for attention or glory or to be the hero or anything like that, they all swore.

Jack, seeing the tech who was barely a man with his own two eyes, was inclined to agree with them.

MacGyver was earnest, guileless. His desperation, Jack thought, came from the fact that he was driven purely by some kind of _need_ to help people, save lives and do good. He seemed prepared to trash his own career by gaining a bad rep among the brass and potentially pissing off the CIA agent sent to investigate (Jack was undercover) by being a stubborn pain in the ass. If he wanted accolades, wanted to be lauded as a hero, he was doing it wrong, and if there was one thing that Jack could be absolutely sure of, based on his file and what he’d been told, MacGyver was not an idiot.

No, Jack was sure, MacGyver wasn’t in this to be a hero. He was in this for nothing else than saving lives.

Jack nodded.

‘Yeah, you’re right, brother.’ MacGyver looked surprised for a moment, before giving a small, somewhat grim smile, looking like his burden was a bit lighter. ‘I believe you. Let’s go Ghost-busting.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only, if only, the woodpecker sighs, the bark on the trees were as soft as the skies…


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sad that there was no ep this week. I didn’t expect it (I’ve been so busy in the lab this week, I didn’t get a chance to even watch the promo), and woke up this morning excited to watch _MacGyver_ …only to be first confused, then very disappointed. I assume that you guys are sad too, so here’s a bonus update!

**MACGYVER FAMILY RESIDENCE**

**LA**

**2027**

* * *

‘…If we don’t leave in the next ten minutes, we’re going to be late!’

Mac smiled as he stuck his head into his daughter’s bedroom. The four-year-old was sitting on her bed, dressed in sports clothes, shoes on, brown hair in a ponytail, right next to her mom. Zoe, seven months pregnant with their second child, was showing her something on her phone, mother and daughter with near-identical expressions on their faces, full of curiosity and wonderment and a touch of awe.

Aurora looked up at him and grinned, a little sheepishly, in a way that Zoe claimed she got from him.

‘Mommy’s showing me pretty pictures from Europa!’

It took her some effort to sound out the last word. Mac grinned back.

‘Well, that’s definitely worth geeking out over, but we got to go for your first tee-ball class.’

Aurora grinned at that, too, and sprung up off her bed.

‘Race you to the door, Daddy!’

She took off like a pocket rocket. Aurora was a very fast bundle of energy, which she probably had gotten _mostly_ from him.

Mac laughed, and jogged off after his daughter, Zoe following behind them at a more sedate pace, a wide, soft smile on her face, and a hand on her belly as their unborn son kicked enthusiastically, apparently keen to join the race.

* * *

**LOCAL PARK USED FOR LITTLE LEAGUE**

**LA**

* * *

Mac, Zoe and Aurora, the latter holding her dad’s hand, approached the man in a coach’s T-shirt setting up the tee and the bases. He was grey-haired, with hints of brunette left, and looked to be in his early-mid fifties, and grinned at them as they approached, holding out a hand for Mac to shake, then Zoe.

‘Hey, I’m Jack.’

Mac smiled back at him as he let go of the man’s hand.

‘I’m Mac, and this is my wife Zoe, and our daughter Aurora.’

Jack crouched down to Aurora’s level, smiling reassuringly at the little girl who’d shrunk back a tiny bit, suddenly a little shy, holding out a hand to her.

‘Nice to meet you, kiddo.’ Aurora, her courage apparently restored, shook his hand with a little grin on her face, as Jack gestured with his free hand to a little boy of about her age, dark-skinned with close-cropped curly hair, who somehow exuded cool despite being four and having his dad (who wore a leather jacket and a hat and definitely exuded cool) tying his shoelaces. ‘I’m Danny’s grandpa.’

Danny’s mom, an also-cool-looking woman with great eyeliner and slightly-wild dark hair in a messy bun, strode over, holding her son’s hand, and shot Jack a teasing look.

‘You being nice to the newbies, Dad?’

Jack looked mock-affronted.

‘I’m always nice, Ri!’

She snorted, and held out a hand to Zoe, then Mac, before nudging her son to introduce himself.

‘I’m Riley, and this is Danny.’

Her husband sauntered over and introduced himself, just as Danny and Aurora got bored with the adults and ran off to race around the bases.

‘Billy Colton.’ He shook his head with a fond smile as the kids raced in rings around Jack, who grinned at the two of them, before tossing Danny a baseball underarm, getting a happy whoop from his grandson. ‘You know, those two might just tire each other out…’

Mac and Zoe exchanged a glance, before Mac spoke, half-sheepish, half-wry.

‘Don’t bet on it.’

* * *

Later, as they watched Jack kindly, patiently and enthusiastically teach Danny, Aurora and the other kids to play tee-ball, striking a perfect balance between being a fun, silly goofball (an overgrown kid) and teaching them good technique and to be careful with the bat so as not to accidentally hurt each other, Zoe smiled a little sheepishly at her husband.

‘Mac, I’m seriously craving ice-cream. Could we go get some after?’

He just grinned back at her.

‘I thought a stop for rocky-road was a given.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn’t make it into this story, but in this AU, Mac and Zoe met while debating the age of an Arctic ice core on the internet, just after she returned from her successful but uneventful research trip on the RV Bancroft. They now both work for JPL and live a happy life full of geekery and rocky-road ice-cream and plenty of ice-core debates. Aurora is named after the Aurora Glacier in Antarctica and the Aurora Borealis/Aurora Australis phenomena – because, come on, Mac named his pet dog Archimedes!


	17. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a bonus update yesterday, because I was sad about the ep being pre-empted, so make sure you check out that too!

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**2012**

* * *

There was a knock on the front door, and Mac, home alone as Bozer was at work, paused his YouTube video that detailed four ways to make a DIY black-light, got up and opened it.

He stared at the person standing on the other side.

He hadn’t seen him for eleven years, but he recognized him instantly.

It was a shock, to say the least.

Mac had long given up on his father, forced himself to try and forget about him, tried to convince himself that his dad was just an ass who’d abandoned his only child.

Now, the man was standing on his doorstep…holding a small bundle in his arms with a rather impressive shock of blonde hair and vividly blue eyes.

A _baby._

Mac finally found his voice.

‘ _Dad?’_

James MacGyver smiled wanly at him.

‘Hello, Angus.’ He gestured with his head at the baby. ‘Meet your younger brother.’ Mac, stuck in what Bozer jokingly referred to as ‘buffering mode’, glanced from his dad to the baby and back again. ‘Oh, snap out of it, Angus. Male fertility might decline with age, but there are plenty of men who have children in their late forties and early fifties.’ Mac looked incredulously at his father. ‘Can we come in?’

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Mac, sitting in the armchair, looked up from the legal documents in the folder that his dad had handed him. The oldest MacGyver was sitting on the couch, while the youngest MacGyver was sleeping in a portable cot that James had brought with him.

There was a birth certificate in the folder, declaring that the baby’s name was Samuel MacGyver and that he was only a month old.

There was another document, very official-looking, that stated that he, Angus MacGyver, had sole custody and guardianship of Samuel MacGyver, owing to the fact that his biological parents were unfit.

‘You want me to raise your son.’

There was barely repressed anger and bitterness (and, underneath all that, hurt) in his voice, on his face.

His father nodded.

‘Yes.’

He sounded like there was an _obviously, given that document, Angus_ on the end of that that he was barely refraining from saying out-loud.

Mac looked incredulously at the man, utterly astounded at his _nerve._ He threw up a hand.

‘What about his mom?’

Something flashed across his father’s eyes for a moment. Mac thought it might be regret, but then again, he really didn’t know his father anymore at all.

‘She’s…not in the picture.’ Something shifted in his father’s expression. It seemed more open, honest, and definitely regretful. ‘Trust me, Angus, she’s not interested in motherhood, nor would she be even an adequate parent. Sam is far better off with you than either of us.’

Mac’s expression grew even more incredulous.

‘I’m a twenty-one year old college drop-out. I’m on active duty in the Army.’ He was between deployments, and according to his contract, still had a year before he was shifted to the IRR for the remaining four. ‘How am I _possibly_ better equipped to be a parent?’

A voice in his head pointed out that he would never abandon his child (or his newfound brother, for that matter), unlike his dad, or, apparently, Sam’s mother.

His dad swallowed, getting up, as if to leave.

‘I can’t raise him, Angus. I _can’t_.’

Mac crossed his arms, trying his best to keep his anger in check. Yelling and getting mad did not fix things, and he didn’t want to wake Sam.

‘Why?’

His father looked away for a beat, then back at him.

‘Your mother’s death changed me. It made me so _angry_ all the time. I…I didn’t know how to relate to you anymore.’ He swallowed. ‘You were such a brilliant kid.’ He glanced at Sam, still fast asleep and oblivious, then back at Mac. ‘You reminded me so much of her, and every time I looked at you, I saw her. And then I’d get angry all over again.’ He gestured with his head towards Sam. ‘I see your mom…and…and you in him, too.’ That flash of regret was back. ‘A reminder of your mom is how he came to be in the first place.’

Mac glanced at his baby brother, asleep and peaceful and utterly innocent. He admittedly did bear a strong resemblance to Mac’s own baby pictures.

But that wasn’t his fault, just like it wasn’t Mac’s fault that he had his mom’s eyes and her hair and a good touch of her nose.

It wasn’t their fault that their dad had dealt so badly with his wife’s death and had such a poor sense of priorities (couldn’t treasure the family he had left), that he’d abandoned his ten-year-old son and apparently had a fling or an affair or a one-night-stand or something with a woman who bore a significant resemblance to his dearly departed wife, leading to the birth of another son.

Mac’s temper boiled over at last.

‘Oh, I get it, so it’s my fault, then!’

His voice was angry and a little sarcastic, wounded and hurt, a touch bitter.

His dad opened his mouth to protest.

‘No, no-‘

Mac’s voice rose, and he took a step towards his father.

‘I lost her too! She was my _mom_!’ He pointed at Sam. ‘He’s a little kid, a baby. He needs his father, and you won’t be there!’

The way Mac said that, it could just as easily have been, _I was a little kid, I needed my father, and you weren’t there!_

James swallowed.

At that moment, Sam started to cry, a wailing, distressing sound, and driven by some kind of ancient instinct, Mac hurried over to the crib, forcing himself to take a deep breath and calm down, before picking up his brother carefully, rocking him gently.

‘Shh…it’s alright…it’s okay, buddy…’

When he turned around to talk to his father again, the man was already at the front door.

The oldest MacGyver turned in the doorway and addressed him.

‘You’re a great man, Angus. You get that from me.’ Mac snorted derisively. His dad was apparently just as arrogant as he remembered. His dad’s voice grew softer, sadder, prouder. ‘But you’re a good man in a way I’ll never be. You get that from your mom and your granddad.’ He paused, swallowed. ‘You turned out a better man because I left.’ He gestured at Sam. ‘So will he. He’ll get it from you.’

And with that, his dad closed the door. Mac, after making sure he wasn’t crushing Sam and was adequately supporting him, especially his head, walked over to the window (he didn’t want to run while holding a baby), just in time to see a vague flash of a black SUV driving away.

_Seriously? Clearly, my dad is in the running for Father of the Year._

_Not._

On autopilot and probably in some kind of shock due to the events of the last half hour, Mac made his way back over to the armchair and sat down. He stared into the distance, then looked down at Sam with a sigh.

‘I…I guess it’s just you, me and Boze, buddy.’

Sam looked up at him with those very blue eyes that really did remind Mac of his mom’s (and his own, and his grandfather’s), and made a burbling noise.

Mac smiled at him, then leaned down to gently press a kiss to the top of his head.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Mac, James MacGyver pulled his SUV over ten miles down the road.

(He knew Angus wouldn’t follow him.)

He sat there, sighed and took a deep breath. Then another, then another.

He’d meant every word he’d said to his oldest son.

He couldn’t raise Sam, and not just because of his job, and the dangers related to it.

He would screw him up irrevocably, ruin him, somehow. He knew that as certainly as the Laws of Thermodynamics or the Periodic Table.

He looked at Sam, and all he saw was Ellen and how the boy had even come to be (which all boiled down to _Ellen_ in the end anyway).

Damn Jonah Walsh, damn him for knowing him so well, knowing how he’d felt about Ellen better than anyone else had, except Ellen herself. Damn himself for falling for the oldest trick in the book, the honeypot trap. Damn that woman who looked so much like her, who’d taken on shades of her personality so well, even though she was as cold and cruel and calculating on the inside as Ellen had been warm and kind and caring. Damn himself for that moment of weakness. Damn himself for nearly handing Walsh a massive weapon to use against him.

He’d gotten Sam out of there. He’d left a message to Walsh to never, ever try something like that again, and to leave his sons alone or he’d bring fire and brimstone down on them, never mind DXS rules and the laws of any jurisdiction. He’d called in favours to keep Sam and Angus safe, and he’d keep an eye on them.

But he really, really had to let them go.

For real, this time.

He’d tried so hard to let Angus go. Stopped talking about him, even to his wrongly-trusted partner and best friend. Ignored the updates that Harry had sent, at first.

He had never really succeeded.

Now he had to.

He had to let both of his boys go.

The plans he’d had, to bring Angus into the fold (but to keep himself hidden in the shadows), once a suitable partner was found, had been permanently shelved once he’d learned of Sam’s existence.

Angus was capable of great things. Sam surely would be too.

With great power, came great responsibility, and he was the only US covert operative who could do what he could do. Angus, he knew, would have been the second…but now, there were bigger things at stake.

Sam needed a father. He needed Angus to not become their father. Not become him, and not spend all his time travelling the world and risking his life, living a life of lies and spies.

It was blatantly clear to him now, that keeping work and family separate was impossible. He was empirical proof of the fact.

Angus’ work, he vowed, no matter what pressures were placed on him from above, would never, ever be his line of work.

There were, after all, many ways to save the world.

JPL would love to have Angus. He would love it there. And he could work on projects that’d wind up benefiting not only astronauts, but soldiers and civilians alike.

He’d make a phone call in the morning.

* * *

Four hours later, Bozer came home from his shift at Killer Burgers to find a porta-cot in the living room, the coffee table converted to a change table, an open diaper bag next to the couch, baby bottles in the kitchen in what appeared to be a DIY solar-powered bottle-warmer, and his BFF sitting on the couch, watching a YouTube video on changing diapers on the TV while typing out an email to his C.O. about filing a request for discharge on parenthood/humanitarian grounds.

Bozer gaped for a moment. Then, he pinched himself, hard, and glanced once more at the blonde baby whom he swore already looked like his best friend sleeping in the cot.

Then, he turned to Mac, crossing his arms.

‘Bro, is there something you haven’t been telling me?’ He did his best stern, _I-am-disappointed-in-you-young-man_ face. ‘You know that it’s important to always use-‘

Mac sighed, raising a hand to forestall a lecture from Bozer (he did _not_ need a rehashing of a combination of high school sex-ed and The Talk from his grandpa, thank you very much – maybe his _dad_ did, but _he_ certainly didn’t).

‘It’s not what you think, Boze.’ He sighed again and sat down on the couch. ‘It’s a _really_ long story.’

* * *

**CITY DADS GROUP MEETUP**

**LA**

**TWO MONTHS LATER**

* * *

An exhausted-in-ways-he-did-not-know-he-could-be Mac parked his Jeep, unbuckled Sam from his carseat, and placed him in his baby carrier, before picking it up with one hand, shouldering Sam’s diaper bag in the other, and walking through the park to the designated meet-up area.

It’d been Bozer’s idea for him to join a dads group. He needed support, having been thrown into the deep end, and Bozer thought it’d be good for both him and Sam.

Thus, on this sunny Tuesday morning, he and Sam were at the park for a City Dads Group meet-up. (Mac would be starting work at JPL next month, but for now, he was a stay-a-home parent who’d just been honourably discharged from the Army. Somehow, things had been arranged so that his Army discharge – and hence the end of his pay – wouldn’t officially take effect until he started at JPL, which his bank account was very thankful for.) He had corresponded with the group’s founder, thirty-eight year old Jack Dalton, father of two. Jack’s older daughter was actually Mac’s age, but the younger one was three. He’d organized this group when the younger one was an infant, and had told Mac that all dads, including stepdads, and adopted dads, were welcome. Mac figured that he was probably close enough, since he was Sam’s sole guardian and happened to be male.

(He had spent a lot of time considering what he should tell Sam, and other people who asked. On one hand, explaining that he was Sam’s brother would raise questions, including ones regarding his dad that he didn’t want to think about or talk about. Besides, he would be the only father Sam would ever know. It might just be easier to let everyone, Sam included, think that he was his dad. On the other hand, he didn’t want to lie to his little brother, and there’d be questions and judgement around being a twenty-one-year-old single father. Though, he was going to get those questions and judgement either way, he supposed…)

He reached the shady spot on the northern end of the park, where he found a couple of guys in their early thirties feeding apple slices to three stubborn toddlers, two identical boys and a girl, who seemed more keen on having a food-fight. There was also an older man leaning against a tree trunk, sitting on a picnic blanket with a little girl of about three lying next to him, colouring with crayons.

Mac presumed that guy was Jack, and went over to introduce himself and Sam.

Jack got up and grinned at him as he approached, holding out a hand for him to shake.

‘You’re the new guy?’

Mac nodded, reached out to shake his hand.

‘Yeah. Angus MacGyver, but please call me Mac. You’re Jack?’

The grin widened.

‘In the flesh!’ He crouched down to Sam’s level, and waved at the boy. Sam moved his hands in a way that was somewhat akin to waving, and babbled a stream of gibberish at him, smiling gummily. ‘Hey, buddy, nice to meet ya too!’ Sam babbled more gibberish. He’d taken to doing that a lot lately, especially in response to Mac or Bozer talking to him. Topics ranged from ‘baby talk’ and baby books, to all the reading on baby and child development Mac had been doing, to stories from his and Bozer’s childhood, to Bozer’s latest movie idea, to random science. Bozer insisted that Sam’s first word wouldn’t be ‘dad’ or anything like that, but ‘thermodynamics’ or ‘paperclip’ or ‘torque’, given how much Mac talked to him and what he talked to him about. Jack smiled wider, and looked up at Mac. ‘You got an adorable son, kid.’

Mac bristled a little bit internally at the ‘kid’.

At this point, it was reflexive.

He’d gotten that all the time in the Army, and he’d hated the insinuations that went with it.

(That he couldn’t do his job, couldn’t handle the pressure, was naïve. He’d been through all the training, and he’d seen some really terrible things, just like everyone else over there.)

(Now, in this context, he’d been getting up when Sam woke in the middle of the night, feeding him at all hours, changing diapers…doing everything a parent would for their child.)

Still, he tried his very hardest to keep that response in check. It wasn’t fair to Jack, who was nearly old enough to be his own father, had a kid who was Mac’s age, and at least said it in a way that sounded friendly. It was even surprisingly non-judgemental, which was a pleasant surprise.

‘Technically, he’s, uh, not actually my son.’

Jack raised an eyebrow at him, speaking half-seriously, half-jokingly.

‘Did you steal him or something? ‘Cause if you did, you and me gotta go for a walk to the nearest police station, brother!’

Maybe Jack had noticed his reaction to the ‘kid’, Mac noted idly, as he shook his head, trying to explain.

(He’d come up with several ways of explaining it in his head, but conversations never went to script.)

‘No, no, I’m his legal guardian, but he’s my little brother.’ Mac put down Sam’s carrier, crouching down and glancing over at the baby, before looking at Jack again. ‘My best friend and I are all he’s got.’

He said it in a way that made it clear he didn’t want to go any further in to the details.

Mac grabbed the plastic, half-transparent ring with balls sealed inside and a colourful background that Sam seemed to like most out of the diaper bag, jangling it in front of him, before handing it over to Sam when he reached out and grasped it. Sam smiled widely and babbled happily at his older brother. Mac then pulled out a blanket, folding it in half and putting it on the ground after checking the grass for sticks or stones. Sam seemed to enjoy tummy time, and especially liked lifting his head to look at the world around him.

Jack watched, looking approving, and Mac saw respect and maybe even admiration in the older man’s eyes when he glanced back at him.

Then, Jack smiled, soft and broad, reaching out to clap Mac on the back.

‘I reckon you’ve stepped up real well to the plate, son.’

That made Mac smile. It also made him feel a little bit lighter. Somehow, that little bit of faith, even from someone he didn’t really know, made that burden he’d been carrying ever since his dad had given him Sam feel just a little smaller.

‘Thanks, Jack.’

Jack smiled a little, nodded in a way that seemed understanding, and turned back to his daughter. After a moment of the little girl drawing while her dad looked on, she looked up and held up her finished drawing, beaming at her dad.

‘That’s an awesome tiger-bear, sweetheart! Looks just like the one I saw!’ He gestured at Mac, who was now sitting next to Sam, pointing out colours and shapes in the baby’s line of sight. ‘Come meet Mac and Sam, kiddo…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is seriously threatening to grow into an actual story. Like seriously. At the moment, I think I’ll do everything I can to keep it at bay, but perhaps someday, I’ll wind up writing the Adventures of Angus MacGyver, Single Dad (Sorta). (I’ll come up with a better title than that, but for now, that’s what it’s being called in my head.)


	18. Eighteen

**SOMEWHERE IN SOUTH AMERICA**

**2004**

* * *

The bag was pulled off Jack’s head, to reveal a man around his age, with a mop of somewhat curly brown hair, smiling.

(Jack had been expecting something like this ever since he’d heard the music start. It was an old CIA play.)

He got to work on the ropes around Jack’s wrists.

‘I’m Ethan, and I’m here to get you outta here.’

Jack grinned back at him, then made a face.

‘Disco, man, seriously? _Disco_?’

* * *

Jack blinked, twice. He pinched himself discreetly (or so he thought), to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

He had never, ever seen Matty the Hun smile and look at someone the way she was smiling and looking at Ethan at that moment.

(It was far more than a _thank-you-for-saving-one-of-my-best-agents_ smile, that was for sure.)

And Ethan Reigns was smiling and looking right back at her the same way.

* * *

**JACK’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

**2006**

* * *

‘…open up, Jack, I know you’re in there!’

Jack sighed, got up off the couch and opened the door, to reveal Matty on the other side, hands on her hips.

‘Hey, boss. What’s up?’

Matty walked into his home, and Jack automatically closed the door behind her.

‘Your last mission report was unacceptable, Dalton.’ She shoved a file at him. ‘After this long with the Agency, you should know how to do a proper write-up.’ Jack sighed, and Matty shot him her patented Matty-the-Hun stare for a moment, before her expression softened a little. ‘What’s wrong, Jack?’

He sighed again, and smiled wryly. Matty cared. She dished out a lot of tough love, but there was definitely love there too, even if not many got to see it.

Jack plonked himself back down on the couch. Matty sat down in one of his La-Z-Boys.

‘I…I left Diane.’ He sighed again, and the whole sorry tale started spilling out. ‘I got to her place, and her ex was there, and he was…he was throwing her around, Matty, and I…’

* * *

Matty pinned him with a look when he looked up from telling the whole sorry tale.

‘Why are you staying away, Jack?’

Why shouldn’t he? There was already strain in his and Diane’s relationship, what with Riley’s refusal to accept and trust him, plus his constant travelling to ‘sell bathroom tile’. That fundamental lie sat between them too. Plus, he was scared of how they’d react to the sheer violence he’d enacted on Elwood, and he knew, deep down, that sooner or later, in his line of work, work followed you home, and he didn’t want them to be in danger.

It was better this way.

Jack didn’t say anything, but he was quite sure that Matty, being the mind-reader she was, would know what he was thinking.

She was silent for a moment, before she spoke again, voice firm, certain, but also surprisingly gentle and…open. Vulnerable, perhaps, like she was speaking from experience.

‘You don’t just give up people you love like that, Jack.’ She swallowed. ‘You don’t give up without a fight.’

That made Jack turn his head and look her right in the eye.

He knew it couldn’t be easy for her and Ethan, not at all.

They were often separated by work, and had spent more time apart than together. Their relationship was a secret from all but a select few, because it wasn’t exactly condoned behaviour at the Agency.

But somehow, they made it work.

Jack reckoned they had something real special, and he was rooting for them.

He nodded, as Matty continued.

‘You should consider a career change.’ Jack blinked twice in shock, gaped a bit like a goldfish, and Matty gave a little smile at that. ‘That’s an order.’ Her expression grew serious again. ‘The Agency’s…the Agency’s not exactly conducive to having a family.’

Jack’s expression softened, and grew curious at the same time.

‘You and Ethan planning a change?’

‘We’re thinking about it.’

Jack nodded slowly, mulling things over. He stared at his phone on the coffee table for a beat, before picking it up.

‘I got a call to make and some grovelling to do first, but…I’ll think about it, Matty.’

She smiled, then got up to let herself out.

Jack pulled up Diane’s number and dialled.

* * *

**FBI HEADQUARTERS**

**LA**

**2016**

* * *

‘Come on, Matty! Seriously? Science class? I thought I was done with all that after college!’

Matty arched an eyebrow at Jack, putting her hands on her hips.

‘It’s a compulsory training class for all FBI field agents, so put on your big boy pants, grab a notebook and _get to class_ , Jack!’

With a long-suffering sigh, Jack got up from his chair in Matty’s office, grumbling under his breath about having to listen to science nerds with no idea about what really went on in the field lecturing him about nerd stuff all day.

He passed Ethan just past the doorway, and Matty’s husband grinned in amusement and raised an eyebrow at his wife as he leaned against the doorframe.

‘Annual forensics training?’ He’d done the course last week. Matty nodded, and Ethan raised the file in his hand, then put it on her desk. ‘I should be out of here by 4, I’ll swing by the grocery store after I pick the kids up?’

Matty nodded.

‘Don’t forget the laundry detergent.’

Ethan gave a little salute at that, then headed back to his desk to finish off his paperwork.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jack continued to grumble as he trudged into the conference room where the class was being held.

There were a couple of field agents he recognized sitting there already, but the instructors were nowhere to be seen yet.

He looked down at the information sheet Matty had given him properly for the first time.

Jill Morgan, Forensic Analyst, was one of the instructors. There was a picture of a pretty blonde with glasses, wearing a labcoat, under the name. Huh, Jack thought, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Jill was a friend of Riley’s, actually, ever since they’d met while working on the baseball fraud case last year. Jack simply could never remember her name (and admittedly wasn’t so good with the face, either) for some reason.

The other instructor was also blonde and blue-eyed and unreasonably good-looking. Jack didn’t recognize the name, or the face, though. He’d never encountered Angus MacGyver, Team Leader, West Coast Explosives Lab, but he did seem awfully young to be a team leader.

Probably some kind of bomb wonder-kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, the one in which everyone works for the FBI and gets to play happy families! The point of canon divergence here, if you’re wondering, is that Matty and Ethan’s paths crossed two years earlier. I’ve sort-of asserted here that that led to a whole heap of changes – like Matty nudging Jack about his and Diane’s relationship and Ethan and Matty having that ‘kids’ conversation a couple years earlier, which had flow-on effects (no suitable partner for Mac, so his dad leaves off recruiting him to the DXS, leading to the FBI snapping him up like they did with Charlie, Jill being recruited by Matty into the FBI instead of the Phoenix, Riley never going down the black-hat path and becoming an FBI white-hat…)


	19. Nineteen

**LA**

**2012**

* * *

Jack was just driving around town, running some errands, when his stomach growled. Loudly. Twice.

‘Yeah, just what I was thinking, I gotta get some grub…’

There was no-one in the car with him. Jack just liked to talk.

He saw a very promising sign in the distance. An old-fashioned, 50s sort of joint, the sign proclaiming it was called Killer Burgers.

Jack could really go for a killer burger. Or maybe two.

* * *

He pulled into the drive-through lane, and drove up to the first window.

There was a young blonde guy wearing a 50s diner uniform (complete with hat) standing there, looking bored.

(Jack didn’t blame him. Working in a fast-food joint wasn’t exactly exciting.)

Still, he smiled when he greeted Jack, in a way that seemed reasonably genuine, considering it was a customer-service-smile and all.

‘Welcome to Killer Burgers. What can I get you?’

‘I’ll get a double bacon cheeseburger, extra bacon, and an order of fries, brother…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An entirely stupid scenario, I know, with no actual bromance. But, come on, Mac might be Mac, but he’s also a college dropout. Where would he find a job in this day and age, in this economy? :P 
> 
> I also maintain that Jack/bacon should be one of the less controversial OTPs in this fandom, along with Mac/paperclips, Bozer/movies and Riley/popcorn shrimp. :P


	20. Twenty

**JACK AND SARAH’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

**2016**

* * *

‘…I don’t like the subway tile, Jack. It’s just boring!’

Jack crossed his arms stubbornly.

‘Come on, it’s classy and dignified and understated, just like me, and you love me!’

Sarah raised an eyebrow at him. Jack Wyatt Dalton was many things, but classy, dignified and understated really wasn’t what came to mind when she thought of her husband.

She crossed her arms just as stubbornly.

‘I love you. I don’t love the subway tile.’

They stared stubbornly at each other for a long moment.

Then, Jack extended the olive branch.

‘How ‘bout we resolve this the usual way?’

There was a bit of a smirk on his face. Sarah smirked back.

‘Best of three?’

Jack nodded, smirk widening.

* * *

**TWENTY MINUTES LATER**

* * *

‘Um…uh…should we come back later, Boze? Your clients seem to be, uh, otherwise, um, occupied.’

Sarah and Jack were sparring in the backyard, which had descended into wrestling as she had him pinned and he was trying to flip them over.

As usual between them, it was a close match, both of them putting their all into it.

Bozer, their designer for their house renovation, just shrugged, waving a hand in response to Mac’s question.

‘Nah, they do this all the time. It’s how they decide anything they don’t agree on. You’ll get used to it, bro.’

Mac just nodded slowly.

* * *

‘Jack, honey?’ Sarah leaned down a little closer to him. ‘I think we’re scaring the contractor.’

Jack moved around a bit so he could look past her, and saw Bozer with a taller, younger blonde guy wearing jeans, a worn brown leather toolbelt and a blue plaid shirt. Bozer looked unperturbed (he had gotten used to Jack and Sarah’s way of making decisions), but the blonde guy looked somewhat uncomfortable, like he wasn’t sure they should be witnessing this.

‘Huh. He’s a young ‘un.’

Sarah nodded, and then smirked at Jack.

‘And I win.’ Jack cursed internally. The count had expired while she was distracting him. Sarah’s smirk widened. ‘You know I got that trick from you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domestic!Jack and Sarah was fun to write, but also hard to imagine…the degree of domesticity is probably questionable. But Mac and Bozer would make a great contractor and designer team, methinks!


	21. Twenty One

**OLD NUCLEAR FALLOUT SHELTER**

**SOMEWHERE IN THE USA**

**2009**

* * *

‘…alright, boys, you’re coming up to a T-junction ahead, watch out for bogeys…’

Jack, dressed in tac gear, a semi-automatic in hand, grinned as he replied to Thorpe’s voice through his earpiece.

‘Hey, we don’t need you warning us ‘bout a good ambush site, Thorpe.’

Worthy, who was behind Jack, continued, voice a little teasing.

‘This isn’t our first rodeo.’

Their teammates nodded in agreement as they advanced quietly, quickly and on high alert down the hall.

A year ago, they’d been a top Delta unit, affectionately nicknamed ‘Dalton’s Heroes’ by the other units.

Then, after a fateful mission in Colombia, Thorpe had lost the use of his legs, Worthy had gotten life-changing news (of the good variety) and they’d all gotten out.

Problem was, none of them had much in the way of money (being career military didn’t pay all that well, even if the benefits and insurance were great), and Worthy, Munoz and Deacon had families to support.

Hence, they’d decided to work freelance as mercs for a couple of years, build up their savings, then retire for good.

(They were very selective about the jobs they took. Very, very selective. They could be, after all. They were _that_ good.)

This time, they’d been hired by a reclusive billionaire (an _infamously_ reclusive billionaire) to rescue his eighteen-year-old son, who’d been kidnapped while on his way home from MIT for the summer.

They arrived at the T-junction, and instinct told them that there were definitely hostiles waiting in ambush.

Jack didn’t even look back, just raised his hand in a series of signals, and Fitzy and Lanier tossed a smoke grenade down each side, before Munoz, Jack and Deacon advanced, Fitzy, Lanier and Worthy covering them.

* * *

Following the simple technique of going where the bad guys were, they soon came upon a cell.

(These guys were amateurs, compared to them. They stood no chance.)

Jack was just about to rough up a survivor among the baddies to get the key to the cell when the steel door embedded in a concrete wall literally just fell out of the doorframe, narrowly missing Fitzy.

Standing on the other side was Angus MacGyver, said billionaire’s kid, a little roughed up, but very much alive. There were a pair of butter knives on the floor on either side of the door, connected to wires coming out of the ceiling.

He was also holding an opened tin can, and a wire from the ceiling, as well as a red Swiss Army knife.

The boy looked warily at Dalton’s Heroes.

‘I have thermite in this can. If this wire contacts it, it will ignite and produce an extremely exothermic redox reaction-‘

Jack looked incredulously at him and interrupted.

‘Kid, your dad hired us to rescue you, and now you’re giving us a science lesson?’

(Fitzy, on the other hand, looked impressed. Very impressed.)

Angus MacGyver eyed them all for a moment, then Jack rolled his eyes and continued.

‘Oh, yeah, password. Right, kid: orange platypus fedora.’

Apparently, his dad had a kidnapping password for him, so he’d be able to identify rescuers. When Jack had asked why in the hell it was so _weird_ , James MacGyver had just shot him a _look._

The younger MacGyver relaxed, and tossed away the live wire.

‘A, actually, I was escaping. B, exothermic redox reaction, simply put, essentially means it gets really hot. C…’ He glanced around at the whole team, and the probably-dead kidnappers littering the corridor, then back around at them, a grateful and relieved look on his face. ‘…thanks.’

He sounded very genuine. Earnest. Didn’t seem like a snooty rich kid.

Fitzy, Jack noted, was still looking rather impressed at the homebrew thermite and whatever it was that the kid had done to the door.

In all honesty, he wasn’t the only one. Kidnapped, locked in a cell in a bunker straight out of a horror movie, and the kid had thought of a way to escape, taking advantage of the bedlam they’d been causing.

He’d even managed to have a bit of a witty, cool action-hero moment right there, with that little spiel, even if it was more science-y than Bruce or Arnie.

Not half bad. Not half bad at all.

Jack decided then and there that Angus MacGyver was a good egg…but a seriously weird egghead.

‘Come on, let’s bounce…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, in which Mac is a self-rescuing not-a-damsel-in-distress?


	22. Twenty Two

**AUDITIONS FOR _THE PHOENIX FOUNDATION_**

**(THE HOTTEST TV SHOW IN THE USA)**

**(COME ON, HAVEN’T YOU HEARD OF IT?)**

**(OKAY, WELL…WE HAVEN’T FILMED THE PILOT YET)**

**(BUT IT’S GONNA BE A HIT!)**

**ATLANTA**

**2016**

* * *

‘…I like this scene, Boze, but there’s a mistake in the script.’ Angus MacGyver, accidental actor (with a huge following of fangirls that Bozer tried to keep his BFF ignorant of, because they’d probably creep him out), pointed out something in the script that was being used for read-throughs with the candidates to play George Eads, ex-CIA, all-round badass partner of Mac’s character, egghead spy, mad-scientist-genius-Golden-Retriever-puppy, Lucas Till. (Said character was based very heavily on Mac.) ‘The Second Law of Thermodynamics is that the entropy of the universe is constantly _increasing_ , not decreasing.’ Mac gave a little grin with a touch of wryness to it. ‘It does, however, still mean that everything’s going to caca, though.’ The grin widened a bit, and he gave a small chuckle. ‘It’s pretty corny, but I like the joke.’

Bozer, who’d come up with the original concept for the show, but had turned it over to scriptwriters, since he was playing Justin Hires, Lucas’ best friend since childhood and wannabe filmmaker turned covert operative once he found out about Lucas’ double life, didn’t actually _get_ the joke, but just nodded.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Jack Dalton, the frontrunner to play George, had walked into the room and heard the back half of their conversation.

He pointed at Mac.

‘Please tell me you’re one of ‘em method guys, brother?’

Mac shook his head, and got that Mr-MacGyver’s-Science-Class look on his face that Bozer knew very well.

‘Method acting has been shown to lead to, at worst, personality changes and psychotic disorders due to dissonance between an actor’s true emotions and that of their character-‘

Jack backed away.

‘I’m, uh, gonna call my agent, changed my mind on doing this show…’ Mac and Bozer, as well as the Director, all looked incredulous. ‘…I don’t wanna work with some weird pretty-boy science nerd with a silly hamburger name who’s only played teenybopper love interests!’

Mac crossed his arms, clearly offended. Bozer, too, looked offended for the sake of his best friend, even if it _was_ kinda true (Mac _was_ a weird science nerd, and _was_ unreasonably good-looking, and _had_ played the love interest in a Taylor Swift music video and in the _Hannah Montana_ movie, and to be fair, _did_ have an unusual name…which the other kids at school used to tease him mercilessly for, so it was a sore point. Bozer’s expression grew more offended on Mac’s behalf. Jack Dalton had managed to hit most of Mac’s sore spots. Bozer knew very well that being called a _weird science nerd_ in a derogatory way – which Jack had most certainly meant – still stung Mac a bit, reminded him too much of Donnie Sandoz and his gang who’d made his life so hellish that he’d wound up auditioning for the school play just to get away from them at lunchtimes.)

‘You know, I’ve heard about you, Dalton.’

Jack (who apparently had a temper) walked over, getting into Mac’s face.

‘Oh, yeah?’

Mac nodded, arms still crossed.

‘Mostly that you’re an opinionated, loudmouth knuckle-dragger.’

Meanwhile, the Director grinned and clapped his hands together, then hurried over to Jack, interrupting his and Mac’s little stand-off, holding out a contract.

‘You’re hired!’ He glanced at his assistant. ‘And we’ve got to get that little exchange into the script somewhere! It was pure gold!’

He was completely serious. All fell silent. Bozer’s eyes grew very wide, before he made eye contact with Riley Davis, who was playing badass, awesome hacker Tristin Mays, who just gave a knowing little grin. Bozer, after a moment, grinned too.

Meanwhile, Mac and Jack glanced at each other, mutually horrified expressions on their faces.

The Director grinned wider.

With perfect leads with perfect chemistry like this, _The Phoenix Foundation_ was going to be _awesome._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meta jokes all round!


	23. Twenty Three

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**2021**

* * *

Jack pulled up to the admittedly very nice, vaguely mid-century modern house in the Hills. He got out of his Shelby Cobra, which he’d been driving more since he’d returned from finally taking out that wily bastard Kovac for good, and walked up the driveway.

There were two cars parked in the driveway, a maroon Jeep and a blue Yaris, and the garage door was open, revealing a bench-press, a couple of workbenches and a _lot_ of shelving units, which were absolutely chock-full of what appeared to be junk.

(Pretty neatly organized junk, but junk nonetheless. There was an entire box labelled _doorknobs_ , and half a shelving unit that appeared to be devoted to broken toasters, for example.)

The door that presumably led from the house to the garage opened, and a blonde guy wearing a blue plaid shirt rolled up his forearms and grey chinos walked into the garage, holding a stack of _Harry Potter_ books. He looked to be about thirty and had a streak of grease on his cheek, for some reason.

He smiled at Jack, and walked over to him, shifting the books so that they were under one arm so he could shake Jack’s hand.

Jack smiled back, shaking the man’s hand.

‘Mac, right?’

The blonde nodded, smile widening a little.

‘Yeah. And you’re Jack, I presume?’

Jack nodded, and pulled out five dollars from his wallet, as agreed upon on Craigslist (Mac wanted to get rid of them for free, which Jack thought was unfair), and handed the money to Mac, who handed him the stack of books.

Jack smiled a little wider, hefting the novels in his hands.

‘Why you getting rid of ‘em, brother?’ Jack gestured vaguely. ‘Aren’t these a Millennial classic?’

Mac chuckled, nodding, before giving a sheepish smirk and shrugging.

‘A, I memorized them years ago. B, my girlfriend also has a set, so they’re redundant and C, she tells me we’re out of storage space.’ Jack was inclined to agree with Mac’s girlfriend on the storage thing, considering the state of the garage. ‘It was either my set of _Harry Potter_ novels, or the innards of the grandfather clock she got me for our anniversary.’

Mac said that as if getting rid of the insides of a grandfather clock that your girlfriend had given you as an anniversary gift was unthinkable.

Jack wasn’t _wholly_ convinced that lack of storage space was the reason (how much space did these admittedly rather long, thick novels take up?), but he juggled the books into one arm, raised his free hand in a salute and grinned.

‘Well, thanks, brother. Promise I’ll give these a good home, use ‘em well and all. Finishing these has been on my bucket list for years.’

That made Mac smile again, and he nodded, waving a hand in goodbye as Jack headed back towards his car.

‘Enjoy them!’

* * *

Jack grinned to himself as he put the books in the passenger seat, then did up his seatbelt to head home.

One item on his bucket list was now a-go. He now had to work on fist-fighting Putin in space and singing with Willie Nelson…

* * *

Meanwhile, Mac walked back into his home, and was met by a pretty, sweet-faced, petite brunette in old jeans and a pink plaid shirt over an old tank top. Beth was also holding a can of paint and a paint roller. The paint was the colour they’d picked out for the walls of the master bedroom (Bozer had moved out with Leanna a year ago, but Mac hadn’t bothered moving into the master until Beth moved in with him, six months ago), which they’d decided to paint as part of a mild refresh of the house.

(It was all part of the process of taking it from bachelor pad to the future MacGyver family home. Mac had witnessed more-or-less the same thing happen when Bozer and Leanna had moved in together – there were trips to Pottery Barn, things like potpourri bowls and throw pillows had started to appear, and the fridge had never been tidier or cleaner.)

(The changes made him very happy, even if there’d been a couple of bumps along the way as they worked out compromises – Beth was really organized and was on the tidy side, he was, well, decidedly not so. It was another step forward in their life together, and it made Beth really happy, which made him happy, in turn, of course.)

(Besides, he liked potpourri, and the potpourri bowl on their coffee table was _awesome,_ containing a pouch of nice-smelling dried plant material, along with paperclips of varying sizes, sticks of gum and other little odds and ends. Beth kept it stocked; there was no more running out of paperclips, which had happened from time to time in his bachelor days when he’d used them all but forgotten to buy more. When she’d purged the fridge and tidied it, she’d also obtained a mini-fridge to put in the garage which had only needed very minor repairs that he’d had a lot of fun doing. It was labelled in her handwriting, ‘for experiments only, NO FOODSTUFFS’ and they used it to store an array of experiments.)

(He really, really loved this woman.)

Beth came over to him, looked up at him and smiled, soft and gentle.

‘He came to pick them up?’

Mac nodded in response, a myriad of emotions in his eyes. Something sad, something hurt, something bitter, a touch of anger, resignation, even a tiny bit of guilt.

Those books had been gifts from his dad. The last three had arrived in the post after James MacGyver had abandoned Mac just days before his tenth birthday.

They’d been the only contact the man had made with him. A couple of months ago, Mac had finally, finally tracked him down, after years of almost everyone who’d known about him (Bozer, Penny Parker, Charlie Robinson, Al’s widow and Beth) nudging him and encouraging him to reach out and get the answers to all the questions he had.

James MacGyver had moved to the other side of the country. He’d married again, started a new family, unable to look at his and Ellen’s son without seeing his dearly departed wife.

Unable to properly deal with his grief.

The MacGyver family reunion hadn’t gone very well.

Hence, those books had had to go.

‘He’ll appreciate them much more than me.’

Therefore, he’d given them away.

Beth gave a little smile, soft and sympathetic and full of affection, then reached out and took his hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

‘Come help me paint?’ Her smile widened into something eager and enthusiastic and almost child-like. ‘We can test out your no-bleed-guaranteed painter’s tape!’

* * *

Meanwhile, Jack arrived home and opened _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ to discover five dollars tucked into the front cover.

After a moment, he shook his head and smiled.

‘Well played, brother. Well played.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Floh67 for the suggestion of Jack’s bucket list in Awl. And yes, the entire point of canon divergence here dates back to post-WWII. This is an AU in which no-one ever thought of putting scientists and soldiers together in the field. 
> 
> I have now written 46 scenarios, and have reached a point where I kinda have writers’ block. I’m a bit short on inspiring ideas (though I’ve still got around 10 sitting around that just aren’t getting anywhere yet), so suggestions would be very much welcomed right now, whether it be a whole scenario or even a phrase! (Heck, even a movie or a TV show or a song to serve as a jumping-off point…)


	24. Twenty Four

**AFGHANISTAN**

**2011**

* * *

Jack, flanked by half a dozen men from his company, all under his command, stared at the IED embedded on the side of the road, in a built-up area.

He shouted out desperately, even though there were less than ten seconds left on the clock, as he and his men dove to get as clear as they could.

‘Bomb!’

He knew it was futile.

There were a pair of EOD techs that were sweeping the area half a block away, but neither member of Cutter 29 was going to be able to get there in time, let alone disarm the explosive. He hoped they had the sense to stay away. One of them looked to be a kid.

He just hoped that some of them survived this.

* * *

The explosion (their doom) never came.

Instead, Jack heard a voice, nearby and full of relief.

‘Clear!’

It was impossible.

Still, Jack, far from being a coward, raised his head, glanced at the IED. The timer was frozen at two seconds. The blonde EOD tech, the one who was a kid in Jack’s eyes, was crouching by it, breathing hard.

He had moved 200 feet and disarmed a complicated IED in eight seconds.

There was only one explanation for that.

He was a mutant.

And, judging by that and the fact that he went from having a Swiss Army knife in his hands to the knife being gone, his hands in a different configuration, in the space of less than a blink (his hands and arms had actually seemed to blur), his power was super-speed.

There were a couple of muttering locals in the background. The men that Jack led had looked up, too, and were staring at the EOD tech, whose nametag read MacGyver. Most looked grateful, if a little in awe. One had a rather hostile look in his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe who (or, Jack thought with derision and a not-insignificant amount of anger, _what_ , in that man’s eyes) had just saved them.

That was the man who spoke.

‘You’re a _mutant_.’

He almost spat it out.

MacGyver’s expression grew set, mouth thinning a touch. There was defensiveness in there, and anger, with a lot of hurt underneath.

Internally, Jack sighed.

After years and years of mutant rights campaigns, they had, in practice, the same legal rights as other humans in the USA. There was still a Constitutional amendment that they were trying to get through (there were always bigots), but so much progress had been made since the 60s.

But sometimes, as this situation showed, it wasn’t enough.

Mutants who had control of their powers (for safety reasons) were able to join the military. They were not required to disclose or use their powers, with all reporting of it confined to their medical records.

(Testing to ensure you had control of your powers was considered part of the physical you needed to pass to join the military.)

It was up to the individual whether they wanted others to know about their powers, and if they wanted to use them. There was very much a Don’t Ask policy. The hope was that mutants within the ranks would feel comfortable being ‘out’ to their fellows, and use their powers to save civilians and American soldiers alike.

In practice, most mutant soldiers stayed ‘in the closet’. At best, being ‘out’ led to a dynamic shift and a bit of discomfort and awkwardness. At worst, it led to outright hostility.

Jack pinned the man who’d spoken with a _look_.

‘Hey, shut it, Corporal.’ He gestured at MacGyver with his head. ‘He just saved all our asses.’ He looked back at MacGyver. ‘He didn’t have to.’

Jack got up and held out a hand to the blonde, a clear gesture of friendship, and MacGyver stared at it for just a moment (Jack had a feeling that he didn’t get much by the way of friendship or friendly physical contact), before reaching out and shaking Jack’s hand firmly.

‘I didn’t have a choice.’ He gestured at Jack and his men, who were also getting up off the ground, and the little crowd of Afghanis that’d accumulated. ‘I couldn’t just…I couldn’t just stand there when you…uh, well, had a problem that I could solve.’

There was nothing but earnest belief in that principle in the young man’s voice. MacGyver, Jack thought, wasn’t just a man ( _not_ a kid, despite his earlier assessment). He was one of the very best of men.

The Texan nodded, stepped a little closer, voice growing quieter.

‘It might’ve cost you, brother.’

The apparently anti-mutant member of his squad was still looking at the blonde in a way that was definitely hostile.

MacGyver swallowed and nodded in agreement, but straightened his shoulders and looked Jack directly in the eye.

‘Sometimes, you just have to step up.’

Yes, Jack thought, definitely one of the very best of men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to I’mcalledZorro for the suggestion I use films/TV shows that the cast has previously been in. This is another ‘verse that I might revisit one day…
> 
> Thanks very much for all your awesome suggestions/ideas; I’m still working my way through reading all of them (I’ve been very busy), but the plot bunny population is growing significantly!


	25. Twenty Five

**MISSION CITY**

**1976**

* * *

Twelve-year-old Mac and fourteen-year-old Bozer, best friends and the bane of Coach Wilson from Mission City High’s existence, climbed up the rope into their treehouse-lab, both processing the bizarre encounter they’d just had.

They slumped onto the floor, leaning against opposite walls, still processing. Bozer spoke first, blinking a couple of times.

‘Bro, was that…did we dream that? Or is this some super-realistic prank you cooked up? You know, Frankensteining him into existence…somehow?’

Mac shook his head.

‘It was real, Boze.’ There really was an octopus-like alien living in the woods. They really had communicated with him, and Bozer really had dubbed him ‘Creech’. Mac shook his head, a touch disbelieving. ‘It’s statistically impossible for extra-terrestrial life n _ot_ to exist.’ The universe as they knew it was so large, and humans were constantly discovering new corners of the universe and new stars. Many of them were planets. Ergo, there had to be life other than that on Earth, even if it was very different from life as they knew it. ‘I just didn’t think that any of them have ever visited Earth, or would in my lifetime.’

There was more silence for a moment, as more of the shock passed, before Bozer spoke up again.

‘How’re we gonna help him, Mac? No-one’s gonna believe us, and we don’t even know who we can trust!’

Creech was stranded. He was, apparently, a kid, and his parents had been kidnapped by shady government agents.

(It was like they were in a movie, a voice in Bozer’s head pointed out excitedly.)

The blonde boy thought for a moment, before his _I-have-an-idea_ face appeared, and he made to climb down the rope again.

He didn’t, however, share what his idea was.

Bozer sighed and shook his head with long-suffering, fond exasperation, before climbing down after Mac and calling out to his best friend as the blonde started to jog off.

‘Where are we going, bro?’

Mac called back as he ran. Since he’d started his growth spurt, he’d become a little faster than Bozer.

‘To talk to Jack Dalton!’

Bozer pulled up at that, and hearing that Bozer had stopped, Mac stopped too.

‘ _Crazy_ Jack Dalton?’

The Vietnam War vet turned town mechanic was also the town conspiracy theorist. He was widely agreed upon to be the town nutcase, too.

‘There are no other Jack Daltons in Mission City.’ Bozer shot Mac a _look._ Mac just shrugged a touch sheepishly. ‘He believes in aliens, Boze. He’ll believe us. And despite what everyone says…he’s a good man.’

Mac’s grandfather thought so. Mr Ericson thought so. Al Pena, the college boy who worked for Jack during his breaks, and acted as a sort of mentor to Mac ever since they’d been introduced by Mr Ericson, thought so too.

Mac was very much inclined to trust their judgement, even if he had no personal experience with the man.

After a moment, Bozer nodded. He trusted Mac absolutely.

Still, he raised one last point, a touch hesitantly.

‘People say he didn’t come back right…should we make sure he’s having a good day or something first?’

Bozer raised that point as tactfully as he (who didn’t have a lot of tact) could.

Mac’s dad had gone to ‘Nam. He hadn’t come back right, and he’d had some very bad days.

In fact, just a few months after he’d returned, he’d just upped and left Mac, taking basically nothing with him.

He hadn’t even left a note.

Mac swallowed, and Bozer could see that hurt and anger and bitterness cross his best friend’s face. It was a wound that might never heal. It was, however, gone in a mere second.

Mac was really good at compartmentalizing. Bozer supposed you had to be to keep functioning the way Mac did when your mom had died when you were five and your dad had gone off to war and hadn’t come back right and then abandoned you just days before your tenth birthday.

The blonde looked over at his best friend.

‘Creech doesn’t have the time.’

He started jogging off in the direction of Jack Dalton’s house again, and Bozer followed, like he always did.

Mac was right. He usually was.

(He’d even been right the time he’d made lightning in the Gym, as furious as Coach Wilson had been.)

Besides, Bozer would follow his best friend through anything. He was his _best friend._

(Mac was a crazy-weird-mad-scientist-genius-puppy, but he was Bozer’s crazy-weird-mad-scientist-genius-puppy. Also, he had little sense of self-preservation and wasn’t quite so good at taking care of himself. He needed Bozer.)

* * *

The two boys ran up to Jack Dalton’s front step.

There was a lot of shouting going on inside, but only one voice. Mac also heard the clang of metal striking metal, a sound very familiar to him.

Apparently, it wasn’t a good day.

He and Bozer exchanged a glance. Bozer looked scared, but straightened his shoulders anyway. Creech didn’t have time. Mac did the same, took a deep breath, and raised his hand and knocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, with thanks to I’mcalledZorro. Don’t ask me why I decided to kinda swap the time periods for the _X-Men: First Class_ AU and the _Monster Trucks_ AU. It just happened, I swear!


	26. Twenty Six

**RISING STAR**

**(A VERY SMALL TOWN)**

**TEXAS**

**2016**

* * *

Jack Dalton grinned as they pulled into what had to be the town’s centre and he parked the car.

‘Welcome to Rising Star!’

Riley Davis, better known to the world as the precocious Disney Channel starlet turned pop star Artemis, smiled back at her stepdad, though she also raised an eyebrow sceptically as she looked around the decidedly almost-dead town centre.

‘Why here?’

Jack’s grin softened, growing nostalgic.

‘Used to come here and spend summers with my grandparents. They had a ranch just outta town.’

That made Riley’s smile soften too. This was a place special to Jack. Very special to Jack, and now, he was sharing it with her, to give her a break from the stresses of her life and help her recover from her burn-out.

(She’d been a starlet since she was eight, when her biological father Elwood had realized how talented his daughter was…and the fame and _money_ that could be garnered from her talent.)

‘Thanks, Jack.’

He grinned back at her, reached out and put an arm around her for a side-hug. When he let go, he rubbed his hands together, and pointed at what might have been the only restaurant in town, named Bozer’s Diner.

‘Whaddya say to some grub?’

* * *

Jack and Riley walked into the diner, which was devoid of customers, though there was a delicious-looking-and-smelling apple pie on the counter. They took a seat at a booth, and from the kitchen, an African-American guy who couldn’t have been much older than Riley (if at all) bustled out. He wasn’t all that tall, and was wearing a 50s-style diner uniform and a big grin.

The man did a double-take and his eyes widened as he saw Riley. He stopped in his tracks, blinked a few times, and rather comically, pinched himself.

‘You’re…you’re…oh my God!’

Internally, Riley rolled her eyes and sighed, even as she automatically smiled at the guy.

Just at that moment, another guy came out of the kitchen. This one was blonde, taller and wearing a plaid flannel shirt and chinos. He also had a streak of grease on his cheek.

‘Boze, I’ve fixed the stove, you shouldn’t have-‘

He was interrupted by Bozer, presumably the diner’s owner, tugging on his sleeve.

‘Bro, it’s _Artemis_!’

The blonde guy glanced at Jack and Riley, then his fanboying friend, then back at Jack and Riley. A little awkwardly, he leaned a bit closer to Bozer and gestured with his head towards the kitchen.

‘Uh, Boze, can I have a word with you? About the stove? In the kitchen?’

The way he said it, it was clearly not about the stove.

* * *

‘…she’s seriously amazing, bro! And she’s here, and it’s…this is the awesomest thing that’s ever happened-‘

‘Bozer.’ Mac put both hands briefly on his best friend’s shoulders, trying to get him to calm down a little. Bozer didn’t really calm down, but he did _quiet_ down. Mac let go of the other man’s shoulders, and continued, definitely awkwardly, but very earnestly. ‘Artemis shows up in a very small town in the middle of nowhere in Texas, without an entourage, without any prior announcements or media coverage and, well, not exactly dressed like an international pop star.’ She was wearing a baseball tee and black skinny jeans and looked like an ordinary, albeit stylish, young woman. ‘Why do you think she’d do that? I mean, why did _we_ come out here? Did we-‘

‘Bro, you’re doing that thing your dad used to do, with the questions…’

Realization hit Mac, and he made a face, before running a hand through his hair, looking sheepish.

‘Boze, I’m pretty sure she’s trying to get away from it all.’

That’s why he and Bozer had moved to Rising Star. After Afghanistan and Iraq (after Pena and The Ghost), coming out here had helped him feel settled and calm again, had helped with the PTSD, in a way that LA, as wonderful a city as it was, had not.

Realization appeared on Bozer’s face, and it was his turn to look sheepish, and guilty. Mac felt a little bit like he’d kicked a puppy.

(Bozer had issues with boundaries and could be a little inappropriate, but his heart was always in the right place.)

Mac’s best friend smiled at him, a little wanly, and glanced back out towards their customers.

‘Thanks, bro. I’m gonna go…’

He gestured at Artemis again, still looking sheepish and a touch guilty.

Mac smiled back, and pulled out his Swiss Army knife.

‘No problem, Boze. I think I can even out the heat on the grill a bit more, so I’ll take a look; I’ll be right behind you…’

* * *

After a minute or so, during which Jack and Riley perused the menu, Bozer came back out, looking rather sheepish. He came over to the two of them, and looked apologetically at Riley.

‘I’m sorry for earlier. I…I should’ve considered the whole incognito-in-the-middle-of-nowhere thing you’ve got going on.’

Riley raised a brow a little at that, but smiled and held out a hand to the diner owner for a handshake. With minimal fanboying, he took her hand and shook it warmly.

‘It’s alright, thanks.’

The diner owner grinned broadly, like she’d made his day (or his week or month).

‘I’m Bozer, and let me officially welcome you to Rising Star!’ He whipped out an order pad with a flourish. ‘Now, what can I get you two?’ He leaned a little closer and stage-whispered conspiratorially. ‘Can I recommend the burger with the lot? Chef really knows what he’s doing!’

Bozer preened a little as he said that, and Riley snorted and shook her head, while Jack grinned, chuckling.

At that moment, the blonde guy came out of the kitchen again. He now had another streak of grease on his forehead and grease-stained hands. He was also smiling, half-teasing, half-affectionate.

‘Boze does make a _really_ good burger.’

Bozer grinned at the other man, and with a slightly exaggerated flourish, gestured to hi

‘This is my BFF Mac, he’s the town mechanic. And plumber. And electrician.’ Jack and Riley’s eyebrows went up progressively. ‘And general contractor and overall Mr Fix-It.’

Mac shrugged casually.

‘I do a little bit of this and a little bit of that.’

Jack and Riley nodded slowly.

He raised a hand and had it halfway out to Jack, like he intended to shake hands with him, before realising it was covered with grease. Instead, he waved, looking distinctly awkward and a touch sheepish.

Riley smiled and waved back, much more smoothly, and Jack chuckled again but gave him a friendly grin, as well as a grateful little nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, with thanks to I’mcalledZorro. I have seen the Hannah Montana movie (or at least part of it), but it was a very long time ago and I didn’t even realize that Lucas Till was the love interest in it until I looked him up on Wikipedia. I only vaguely recall him in a scene that involved Hannah/Miley attending a dinner with some fancy people (I think it included the mayor) and his character at a diner or something at the same time. There was some kind of skit involving a lobster, I think, and a very confused Lucas Till?


	27. Twenty Seven

**SIU SAI WAN WET MARKET**

**HONG KONG**

**2016**

* * *

Jack Dalton, one of the CIA’s finest, strode through the wet market, seemingly idly, looking every bit the tourist who’d wandered in and was in turn baffled, disgusted and astounded at what he saw.

(It didn’t require much acting, to be honest.)

He was, however, keenly alert, looking for the third butcher’s stall in the second aisle on the left-hand side.

That was where he was going to meet the partner Matty Webber, his boss, had assigned to him.

It turned out that the Triad boss/arms dealer Jack was meant to be taking out was a lot more secure and paranoid than initial intel had suggested, and Jack had called in for a little back-up.

Matty was sending him one Angus MacGyver.

Jack had never met him, but the Agency’s very own Boy Wonder had a bit of a reputation. He was one of those names you heard whispered around the office, so to speak.

He had a really big brain. He also had no sense of self-preservation. He could get you out of any pickle, but he was also really weird, had a thing for paperclips, and expense reports were a pain in the ass when you worked with him.

(Some poor agent had had to justify the purchase of a pound of lemons, half a dozen garden gnomes, a Lego set and a large watermelon to Accounts.)

He was, also, according to the photo that Matty had sent Jack, really blonde and looked like he’d been recruited out of a boy-band.

Jack reached the stall, and noting that MacGyver wasn’t there yet (it was pretty easy, as all the heads in the vicinity were dark-haired), idled around.

He did a double-take when he noticed a cage of live toads, and bent to take a look, making a face.

These people _ate_ these things?

The general loudness of the wet market seemed to increase, and Jack looked up, to find an old woman wearing a plastic apron jabbering away at him in Cantonese.

(At least, he assumed it was that. Jack didn’t speak the local lingo.)

She was gesturing enthusiastically to the toads, and when Jack looked up at her, she grabbed a huge, fat one, holding it out to him.

He held up his hands, shaking his head.

‘Uh, no thanks, I ain’t interested in holding him…’

The woman shook her head, and mimed putting something in her mouth, then grinned, rubbed her belly and gave him a thumbs-up.

Then, to Jack’s horror, she took the toad, put the struggling animal on a cutting board, and was just about to give it a blow to the head with a rolling pin when he started protesting louder.

‘No, no! Don’t kill him, I don’t want him! Keep him alive! _Alive_!’

The old woman stopped, rolling pin poised, before studying him for a moment. Then, she looked very impressed, which made Jack grin.

(He liked women in general.)

Unfortunately, the language barrier must have been pretty substantial, because the next minute, the old woman was thrusting a plastic box at him, with the toad, still very much alive, inside. There were breathing holes poked in the lid.

Jack looked horrified as she rang up some kind of total, and was about to try and give the toad back, when he heard a man’s voice behind him. An American accent, too.

‘It tastes a lot like chicken, but I’m guessing you don’t wanna try it.’

He whirled around and recognized Angus MacGyver, who smiled placatingly at the old woman, before starting to speak in Cantonese.

The woman stared at him for a long moment, as if astounded, as Mac took the toad in its box and passed it back over the counter. More words were exchanged, and the woman protested in a way that made him shake his head and laugh. He said something that seemed like it might be reassuring (Jack wasn’t sure; Cantonese always sounded like arguing to him – even during those romantic scenes in the soap operas that seemed to pretty much the only thing airing every night), and at last, the woman took the toad back and the CIA agents were free to go.

As they walked away, Jack looked a little incredulously at the blonde.

‘You speak _Cantonese_ , brother?’

That hadn’t been on MacGyver’s file.

The younger man shrugged.

‘It’s close enough to Mandarin I’ve managed to pick up a bit in the last week.’ Jack boggled. That was when he’d called in for back-up. The big brain bit was apparently not an exaggeration at all. MacGyver smiled in a way that was both wry and sheepish. ‘Though I’m told my accent is _atrocious_.’

Jack snorted. Then, something else hit him.

‘Wait a moment…you’ve _eaten_ toad?’

MacGyver looked even more sheepish at that.

‘Well, I got here last night, and I was tired and jet-lagged.’ Jack nodded. He would have been, even if the kid somehow looked as fresh as a daisy now. (Sometimes, Jack really missed being young, even though he’d become wiser over the years.) ‘I went to a hole-in-the-wall place for dinner…’ You usually got the best food in those places, plus Jack figured he’d wanted to practice his language skills. ‘…and, well, um, the Cantonese phrase for toad literally means _field chicken_ , and I, uh, got a little mixed up.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, with thanks to I’mcalledZorro for the inspiration (Justin Hires played Carter on the _Rush Hour_ TV show). Also, thanks to my mother (not that she reads this) for telling me what toad tastes like and confirming the Cantonese for me! This is based on that scene in one of the Rush Hour movies in which Carter accidentally acquires a live chicken. They used to sell live chickens in Hong Kong wet markets when I was a kid, but stopped due to avian flu concerns. They do, however, still sell live toads. I have never eaten toad, but my mom has and says it tastes like chicken and is delicious (albeit rather bony and tricky to eat). The Cantonese word for chicken is gai, and the word for toad is teen gai, which means field chicken, literally. 
> 
> The old woman is, as you’d expect, complaining that Mac is too thin and needs the food. I would expect Mac’s Cantonese accent to be atrocious (I am the daughter of two Cantonese first-language speakers, and I apparently speak it with a strong ‘bogan’ Australian accent, despite not even having an Aussie accent in English); incidentally, Lucas Till’s Mandarin accent is also pretty awful, in my opinion (not that I blame him; it’s a damn hard language and my accent is probably only a touch better), though, perhaps it was more the enunciation and how he split up the sounds when he told that Shanghainese man ‘I want to borrow your car’ that just made it sound…really, really wrong to my ears. (Sorry, Mr Till! I know you must have tried!)


	28. Twenty Eight

**CRIME SCENE**

**LA**

**2018**

* * *

‘…come on, Jules, I need an ID on that poison ASAP.’ Jack, an LAPD detective, gestured at the very dead man on the ground, looking very seriously at the blonde woman wearing a jacket labelled CSI. ‘This is looking like a serial.’

Jill Morgan pursed her lips, looking up from the body that she was carefully collecting trace evidence from and back up at Jack. They’d worked together for a couple of years now, and Jill was good friends with Jack’s stepdaughter Riley, also of the LAPD. It was a running joke between them for him to call her the wrong name or a nickname, since for nearly a year, he’d been apparently incapable of remembering hers.

She agreed with Jack’s assessment, even if she was a CSI, not a detective.

The body had been labelled with a ‘2’ written in animal blood. There was a note written in the same ‘ink’ that claimed the next victim would die in four hours. They had yet to find the first body (assuming there was one), but Jack had teams sweeping the city.

‘It’s very difficult to identify a poison…’ Based on the puncture wound in the deceased’s neck and the fact that he appeared to have just suddenly fell over dead, with no visible wounds, that _was_ the logical conclusion. ‘…without a lab, Jack. It’s going to take time.’

Jack nodded in grim acceptance.

‘I ain’t sure we got it.’ He managed a little smile. Jack was always capable of bringing a little light into the darkness. ‘But you’re the best, so if anyone can work out what did him in real quick, it’s gonna be you, Maid Marian.’

She rolled her eyes at that nickname (it was a _long_ story), before some kind of idea seemed to hit her. Jill turned a little and called out to another blonde CSI (this one was male) that Jack didn’t recognize who was scraping some kind of oily substance off the nearby road.

‘Mac?’ The CSI looked up from his oil sample, and Jill gestured at the body and Jack. ‘Any ideas on how we can narrow down the poison without the lab?’

Any information would help Jack and the LAPD catch this wannabe serial killer sooner.

Mac considered for a moment, with a look on his face that was distinctly, obviously a thinking-face, before he quite literally jumped up, putting the oil sample in an evidence bag and handing it off to Jill, then ran off into the victim’s house.

‘Back in a minute!’

Jill grinned, while Jack raised his brows sceptically, jerking his thumb in the direction that the CSI had run off in.

‘He always like that?’

Jill nodded, still smiling.

‘Yup. It’s a good sign.’

Jack still looked sceptical (he thought that Mac was just nuts – or, more accurately, even nuttier than the other CSIs; Jill had a tendency to geek out over weird things like microbiome forensics or microbowl forensics or whatever that was called), as Mac returned, carrying vinegar, baking soda and laundry detergent. A look of realization or comprehension crossed Jill’s face.

Mac looked up at Jack.

‘I might be able to narrow down our options for the identity of the poison with these household ingredients.’ Mac got to work mixing together the vinegar, baking soda and laundry detergent in a plastic tube, continuing to speak as he did. ‘I just need to mix vinegar, baking soda, a fluorescent agent, add a few drops of his blood…’ Jill, who seemed to understand what he was doing and seemed to think this was a good idea (Jack still didn’t get how it was all going to work, but he trusted the science nerds to do the science and just made use of their results), dropped some of the man’s blood into the plastic tube Mac was holding with a syringe. He passed the tube off to her and she continued mixing as he grabbed a blacklight and shone it over the tube. ‘…then, we shine a UV light on it, and hope for a little luck.’

The contents of the tube (a weird and pretty unsanitary mixture in Jack’s mind) glowed blue-green.

Mac and Jill made surprisingly-similar noises of satisfaction. Apparently, the glowing was good. Mac spoke as Jill packed the tube into an evidence bag.

‘Blue-green fluorescence under UV light means he was killed with cyanide.’

Jack immediately fired off a text to Riley, so she could start doing her thing, before looking up at the pair of CSIs again.

‘We’ll confirm that in the lab ASAP, so you’ve got something admissible.’

Jack nodded in thanks at Jill, before speaking as he stood. The two blondes stood with him.

‘Thanks, Jill…’ These were the only times he ever used her correct name. ‘…and Mac, was it?’

The male CSI nodded.

‘Yeah. Well, Angus MacGyver, but only my dad calls me Angus.’ Jack didn’t blame him for not wanting to go by something that sounded like a Carl’s Jr. menu item. The younger man’s expression grew more serious, as he glanced at the dead body, then back at Jack. ‘Good luck catching the killer, Detective Dalton.’

Jack got the feeling that this CSI took his job very seriously, like Jill, and was devoted to using science to save lives and ensure that justice was served.

He smiled and shook his head.

‘Call me Jack, Detective Dalton was my old man.’ His expression grew serious again, and he gave a quick salute. ‘SOB won’t know what hit ‘em.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, with thanks to I’mcalledZorro.


	29. Twenty Nine

**THE PHOENIX FOUNDATION**

**(BUT NOT AS WE KNOW IT)**

**(IT’S REALLY A THINK-TANK)**

**(PROMISE)**

**LA**

**2027**

* * *

‘…oh, this ain’t good, this ain’t good at all…’

Jack Dalton, volunteer representative of The Challenger Club (an organization that supported military vets), muttered not-so-quietly under his breath as he listened to the presentation that Dr Angus MacGyver (‘Call me Mac, please.’) and Dr Rosalind Mallory-MacGyver (who went by Frankie, for some reason) were giving to him and two dozen reps from hospitals, the aged care sector, disability advocates and veterans’ affairs groups.

The two scientists were explaining Sparky, the robotic AI that was their brainchild.

(They seemed very, very proud of said brainchild. Jack wondered idly what they were like with their real, human children who’d been mentioned anecdotally during the presentation.)

‘…Sparky can lift up to 600 pounds, giving him substantial applications to search-and-rescue.’

Frankie finished explaining the potential future applications and adaptations of Sparky, and Mac gestured to a diagram on the powerpoint slide, outlining a laser-based navigation system that Jack thought was straight out of a movie.

‘We intend to further develop related technology for search-and-rescue, for example, this laser navigation system. We envision pairing Sparkies with a drone or drones outfitted with this navigation system…’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘…once we’ve worked out all the kinks.’

* * *

‘…On behalf of Dr MacGyver and Dr Mallory-MacGyver, thank you for listening.’

Sparky delivered the very last line of the presentation, and a low, excited buzz erupted around the room as the various reps started talking to each other and the scientists.

Meanwhile, Jack stepped forward, raising his voice and not bothering to raise his hand.

_Someone_ had to warn all these people about the imminent robo-apocalypse that might have already been unleashed.

Before it was too late.

If it wasn’t already.

‘Seriously, _what the hell_ were you two thinking?’ Every single person in the room turned to stare at him. Jack pushed on, undeterred by the attention and the variously shocked, horrified and just plain confused looks on everyone’s faces. He gestured at Sparky. ‘You got a kill switch for that thing, when he goes all Skynet or Ulton on us?’

* * *

Mac and Frankie exchanged a glance. There was a look on her face that Mac knew very, very well, had ever since the twins had been born seven years ago.

It very clearly said, _this one’s yours, Mac._

(To be fair, he owed her big-time for the Incident that Al and Max had caused while he’d been at that conference with Smitty and some of the guys from their MIT days that’d had a boys’ trip tacked to the end. Frankie had dealt very well with the FBI showing up at their door.)

Mac sighed internally and turned to Jack Dalton.

‘Sparky’s core programming is centred around Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics; he _can’t_ go-‘

‘Ass-e-mov’s Three Laws? Never heard of ‘em!’

Mac sighed again internally.

‘ _Asimov’s_ Three Laws of Robotics state that, firstly, a robot may not harm a human being, or through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm, secondly…’

* * *

**THIRTY MINUTES LATER**

* * *

‘…I don’t care what fancy-schmancy stuff you pull out, man, I only trust one AI, and his name’s Arnie!’

Mac sighed out-loud.

(On the bright side, given the sympathetic looks Frankie kept shooting him when she wasn’t busy with the other reps, he definitely didn’t owe her a dozen or so for the FBI Incident anymore.)

He spoke, exasperated and frustrated.

‘Mr Dalton, your beliefs about Sparky and AIs in general are rooted in science-fiction, not science-fact!’

Jack put his hands on his hips.

‘You saying that Arnie ain’t real?’

‘Given that you are referring to the _Terminator_ character played by Arnold Schwarzenegger, and not the actor and former Governor himself, yes!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Clarissafrench for the suggestion!
> 
> Mac and Frankie’s twins are named Albert Einstein MacGyver and Maximillian Planck MacGyver, thanks to Frankie’s parents’ sense of humour and a conference in Germany that Mac and Frankie went to nine months before they were born. I’m fairly certain that if Mac had stayed at MIT, eventually, Frankie would have realized that ‘boy genius’ wasn’t a boy anymore…and Mac’s crush/feelings would have developed and matured and he’d probably at least partly let go of the whole ‘she’s out of my league’ thing. (Though I reckon Frankie would have had to make the first move.)


	30. Thirty

**DALTON FAMILY RESIDENCE**

**LA**

**2025**

* * *

Jack grinned at his twelve-year-old son, Luke, whose return home from school had been heralded by the family dog, Peaches, barking excitedly.

‘Hey, buddy. How was school?’

Luke sighed in a long-suffering and very teenage way.

(Internally, Jack gulped a little in fear. The teen years were hitting him and Sarah. They’d faced down certain death together many, many times, back when they’d been CIA agents, but they were _terrified_.)

(They had never intended to become parents. Jack had always wanted little Jacks, but Sarah hadn’t been too keen on having kids, and he loved her more than anything, so he’d made his peace with it.)

(Luke had been an accident, but he was the best accident that’d ever happened to them. Even better than that incident in Lima that’d finally led them to stop dancing around each other, fearful of losing the other, and finally become partners in more than one sense.)

The near-teenage boy went over to the fruit bowl and grabbed an apple.

‘I failed my science test. Again.’

Internally, Jack sighed.

Luke wasn’t very good at science. It just wasn’t his thing.

Jack had failed fifth grade science. His son had taken after him, and failed it too.

With a lot of effort and help from him and Sarah, Luke had passed sixth grade science by the skin of his teeth.

Jack had hoped that seventh grade would be better, probably against all hope. They were reaching a point where Luke didn’t want his parents’ help with things (he was determined to prove that he could do it himself), and besides, it wasn’t as if he or Sarah was anywhere near being a science whiz. They might not actually understand the seventh grade curriculum well enough to help him anyway.

Still, Jack reached out and put an arm around his boy’s shoulders. The comforting gesture got a little smile out of Luke.

‘Well, least you know what not to do, for next time and all, kiddo.’ Jack grinned. ‘I ever tell you ‘bout the time I killed a tiger-bear? You know, how he got me the first couple of times, and then I realized-‘

Luke snorted and crossed his arms, demolishing the rest of his apple and speaking with his mouth full.

‘Yeah, I’ve heard that story a million times, Dad, and it still makes no sense.’ Luke stole some of the shredded rotisserie chicken that Jack was using to make burritos for their dinner (neither he nor Sarah were very good cooks). ‘There’s, like, a dozen plot holes, it never has anything to do with what we were talking about, it changes all the time, and there’s _no such thing as tiger-bears._ ’ Luke shouldered his backpack again and headed for his room, rolling his eyes. ‘You should try telling it to Mr MacGyver.’

* * *

A month later, Jack picked Luke up from school after work.

After Luke had failed that second science test, his science teacher, the famous Mr MacGyver (Luke talked about him _all the time_ now, and Jack was actually a little jealous, something that Sarah teased him mercilessly for) had offered to give him a little extra after-school tutoring.

(According to Luke, Mr MacGyver _loved_ science, was _really_ smart and was a giant dork, but was actually pretty cool, too, just in a weird, nerdy way. He believed that science was everywhere and was for everyone and that everyone could be a scientist in some way or the other, they just didn’t always know it. Science, Mr MacGyver said, wasn’t about super-smart people in labcoats in fancy labs, it was about little things like making toast in the morning or streaming Netflix or driving your car, and big things like solving crimes or saving lives by disarming bombs.)

(Apparently, Mr MacGyver had once been an EOD tech in the Army, something which admittedly endeared him to Jack, even if he’d never met the man. In his experience, EOD techs were bomb nerds, but they were the bravest nerds Jack had ever met and often had little sense of self-preservation.)

Jack grinned and waved at his boy as Luke emerged from the nearest school building, chattering excitedly with a lean blonde man in olive chinos and a navy-blue button down. Presumably, this was Mr MacGyver. Jack was surprised; he was rather _young_ , probably no older than thirty or so.

Luke had never mentioned that.

Then again, a voice that sounded rather like Sarah in his head pointed out, _he’d think thirty was old, and we’re practically ancient._

Luke waved back at his dad, and jogged over to the car after thanking his teacher and saying goodbye. As Luke got into the car, talking a mile a minute about some new experiment Mr MacGyver had suggested he do at home, Jack looked over at the teacher, smiled and gave a grateful little salute.

Mr MacGyver smiled and waved back, a little awkwardly, but in a genuinely friendly way.

Jack grinned to himself as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Yeah, Luke was right.

His science teacher was definitely a real stand-up guy, but he was also definitely a dorky little bomb nerd.

* * *

That weekend, Jack and Luke embarked on the little project that Mr MacGyver had suggested they do, together.

(Apparently, Luke talked about his dad to the teacher, which made Jack feel all warm and fuzzy and proud inside.)

(Mr MacGyver was also, apparently, a big believer in father-son science projects.)

It was supposed to be a hydrogen fuel cell that converted energy from the sun into electricity to power an LED. It also used salt water, so as not to waste fresh, drinking water.

Unfortunately…it wasn’t going to so well.

Jack coughed and waved a hand in front of his nose and mouth, he and Luke both making identical faces of disgust.

It _stank._

Gingerly, Luke reached out to take the popsicle stick that the wire coils that were called ‘electrodes’ were attached to out of the water.

The ends of the electrodes had melted into some icky green-brown stuff…and the green-brown stuff had coated the outside of the glass that the water and electrodes had been in.

It was one of the ‘nice’ glasses that Sarah had come home with one day. Jack had teased her about becoming domesticated, and she’d retorted with something about Peaches, then a puppy that Jack had brought home two months before.

Luke and Jack exchanged a glance.

Jack pointed at his son very seriously.

‘Don’t tell your mom…we can go get another one of these ASAP and she won’t ever have to know, it’ll be our little secret…’

He didn’t seem completely convinced. Sarah _was_ ex-CIA.

Luke looked sceptically at him, apparently in agreement, before holding out a hand to his dad to shake on it.

‘Deal.’ Luke paused, and pointed at his dad just as seriously. ‘But if Mom asks, it’s every man for himself.’

Jack looked mock-offended for a moment, before a half-wry, half-fond grin crossed his face and he shook his son’s hand.

‘Yeah, I ain’t gonna blame you for that, buddy.’

* * *

On Monday, Luke came home from school with a little coil of wire.

He plonked it down on the kitchen table, stole some of the rotisserie chicken Jack was shredding, and grabbed a pear out of the fruit bowl.

‘Wire _isn’t_ just wire, Dad.’ Mr MacGyver’s instructions had called for some fancy alloy called nichrome wire, but Jack and Luke didn’t have any of that, so had figured that wire was wire. Apparently, that wasn’t true. ‘The fuel cell produces acid, so we need something corrosion-resistant, like this nichrome wire.’ Luke picked up the coil and waggled it. He reached into his bag and pulled out a notebook, then flicked to a certain page, which he held out to his dad. ‘Here’s an explanation that Mr MacGyver helped me put together!’

Jack was reminded, at that, how Luke was still really a kid, no matter what he insisted. He read through the explanation (which had lots of science, but was explained in a way that he actually _got_ and really sounded like Luke), full of fatherly pride. When he was done, he looked up at Luke, proud smile on his face, before it shifted into something joking, teasing.

‘Who are you and what’ve you done to my boy?’ Luke rolled his eyes affectionately, as Jack reached out and ruffled his hair. ‘I better have words with this Mr MacGyver; he’s turning you into a little mini-me nerd!’

* * *

At the end of the school year, Luke proudly showed off his B+ in science to his parents.

Over the top of their son’s head, Jack and Sarah exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them.

Jack snapped his heels together and saluted, which made Sarah roll her eyes in a way that was fondly exasperated and sock him in the arm.

* * *

Jack knocked on the classroom door, noting the many science posters on the wall and the Fact of the Day and the Challenge of the Day on the whiteboard at the front.

Mr MacGyver, today wearing beige chinos and a light-blue button down shirt, with a brown leather jacket thrown slightly haphazardly over the back of his chair, looked up from his marking, a little surprised, and smiled.

‘Oh, uh, hi. Luke’s dad, Mr Dalton, right?’

Jack grinned, taking the proffered hand and shaking it.

‘Yeah, one and only.’ He paused. ‘Me and Sarah are real grateful for what you’ve done for our boy. I mean, most teachers would’ve written him off.’ Jack’s expression grew wry and fond and he gave a half-chuckle, shaking his head in a way that was full of love. ‘Don’t you know a lost cause when you see one?’

Mr MacGyver shook his head.

‘No, I don’t.’ He smiled wryly. ‘One of my many character flaws.’

Jack held up the gift bag in his left hand.

‘Seriously, brother, thanks. Me and Sarah wanted to get you a little something.’ Mr MacGyver didn’t reach out to take it, opened his mouth to, Jack was sure, insist it was just his job or something, so the former CIA agent held the bag out more insistently. ‘You went to…to infinity and beyond for our boy, man.’

For some reason, that made Mr MacGyver chuckle.

(Jack later found out that Mac, as he preferred to be called – Jack didn’t blame him, since his first name was _Angus_ – had had, to put it lightly, a childhood obsession with Buzz Lightyear, to the extent that his mom had made him a Buzz Lightyear costume for Halloween when he was five.)

(Ellen MacGyver, it turned out, was also his inspiration for becoming a science teacher, and an excellent and dedicated one at that.)

(She was in her early sixties, but was still teaching back in Mac’s hometown of Mission City.)

(Seriously, the woman was awesome. Anyone who could keep a guy like her husband Jim in line – he was just as smart as Mac and had an unfortunate tendency to be arrogant, emotionally constipated and just an ass – inspire literally hundreds of students and bake the best apple pie Jack had ever had the privilege of tasting had to be.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Kingskid for the idea(s). The hydrogen fuel cell experiment is one that I did when I was thirteen – it did not go well. I, like Jack and Luke, screwed up and destroyed a fancy glass! With some research and experimentation, I found that nichrome wire was sufficiently corrosion-resistant and the nickel in it was sufficient to catalyse the reaction.


	31. Thirty One

**LAS VEGAS**

**2016**

* * *

The young blonde guy reached out to scoop the pot yet again. Jack tossed down his hand of cards, astounded, shaking his head, exchanging a glance with Caleb Worthy, who just shrugged, looking just as astounded. Glancing around the table showed that Thorpe, Lanier, Fitzy, Deacon and Munoz were all just about the same.

He and his old Delta unit were in Vegas celebrating the end of Thorpe’s bachelorhood, since he was getting married next week.

There’d been a period, a couple of years after they’d gotten back and gotten out, when they’d lost touch a bit, not kept up like they should have.

Then Kovac had resurfaced in ’11, and they’d all been pulled back together again, pulled back into the life that they’d all thought they’d left behind.

(Well, except Jack, since he was the one who’d re-joined the CIA.)

(Heck, they’d even gotten Thorpe back in, despite the fact that he’d been medically retired, somehow. _That_ was how much of a threat that guy was.)

Once Tiberius Kovac was definitely six feet under, and they were all bonded together even tighter than before by even more blood and sweat and near-death experiences, they’d made a point to catch up in-person at least every six months.

It was, actually, on one of those trips that Thorpe had met his wife-to-be. They’d all met up in LA, and after Lanier’s sudden and inexplicable craving for torta negra had spread, they’d found themselves in a little Colombian bakery with really good Yelp reviews.

The future Mrs Thorpe was the bakery’s sassy, talented owner/head baker.

(Now _that,_ Jack thought, was a first meeting worth noting in a Best Man speech.)

She was seriously awesome (and made seriously awesome baked goods), but of course, they had to send Thorpe’s bachelorhood off properly, hence Vegas.

And when in Vegas, of course you had to play a few hands of poker.

That, however, did _not_ mean that you wanted to get your ass kicked, repeatedly, by a skinny blonde guy who was probably still a little wet behind the ears.

Jack crossed his arms, and looked at said blonde guy.

‘Where’d you learn to play like that, kid?’

The kid gave a half-shrug, a half-smile, half-smirk on his face.

‘MIT.’

Jack snorted. Figured. They’d gotten cleaned out by a skinny blonde nerd.

Said blonde nerd glanced at his rack of chips, then looked around the table. After a moment, he spoke, a little bit hesitantly, a touch awkwardly.

‘You’re here celebrating an impending wedding, right?’

Jack snorted, since the celebrating was being derailed by the nerd himself, but Worthy just smiled and nodded, gesturing to Thorpe.

‘Yeah, Ryan’s getting married next week.’

The blonde nerd smiled, and looked over at Thorpe.

‘Congratulations.’ It was very genuine. He glanced at his rack of chips, then at the former Deltas. ‘How about I buy you guys a round?’ He looked sheepish. ‘You know, since I, uh, might have put a bit of a dampener on celebrations…’

That made them all smile.

‘Now you’re speaking our language, brother.’

* * *

Jack wound up being pleasantly surprised by Angus MacGyver.

His first impression (skinny blonde nerd) was definitely right, but he was a vet too, and, when after a few drinks, conversation had turned maudlin and to that terrible day in Colombia, he’d _gotten_ it. Gotten it completely.

Besides, he liked beer and rollercoasters and classic rock and got the value of some good banter and was game to tackle a buffet or four, which made him good people in Jack’s book.

That, however, wasn’t the biggest surprise of Jack’s day.

_That_ came when Mac introduced them to the friends he’d come to Vegas with (who’d gone on a romantic desert helicopter flight for their anniversary, which was why Mac had been playing poker alone), his best friend, Wilt Bozer…and Bozer’s girlfriend, Riley Davis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, with thanks to Kingskid.


	32. Thirty Two

**LA**

**2017**

* * *

‘…seriously, Mac, it’s going to be fine.’

Outside her mom and dad’s apartment building, Riley shook her head and smiled up at her boyfriend, who was fiddling a little nervously with the left cuff of his shirt.

(Mac liked keeping his hands busy. He had, however, run out of paperclips.)

(He had a really weird thing for paperclips, which was actually sort-of how they met.)

(When she’d started working at JPL, she’d discovered that someone was stealing from her JPL-provided box of paperclips. Since Riley was in software and much preferred digital copies of everything anyway, she didn’t really care about the paperclips, but she had been curious and loved a challenge, so had hacked into the security cameras and worked out who it was.)

(The rest, as they say, was history.)

(Mac had definitely majored in advanced abstract dorkery, but he was her dork and one of the best men she’d ever known.)

‘Your dad told a twelve-year-old that he was capable of making him disappear off the face of the planet, causing said twelve-year-old-‘

Riley sighed and muttered under her breath.

‘I knew I shouldn’t have told you that story…’ She stopped walking, which caused Mac to stop as well, and looked up at him seriously. ‘You’re definitely the most gentlemanly boyfriend I’ve ever bought home…’ Mac could be oddly old-fashioned about dating, having been taught how one should treat a lady by his grandfather. ‘…so you have _nothing_ to worry about.’

* * *

Three minutes later, Riley resisted the urge to first face-palm, then sock her dad hard in the arm, as she watched him stare suspiciously and threateningly at Mac, who, in true Mac fashion, smiled very earnestly, raised his shoulders in an awkward manner and waved even more awkwardly, before holding out a hand for Jack to shake.

‘Hello, Mr Dalton, uh, sir. It’s nice to meet you.’

Riley glanced over at the kitchen, where her mother was pouring out some glasses of wine. Diane had an expression that was identical to Riley’s on her face, and when the wine was poured, strode over and whispered something in Jack’s ear.

That made him gulp, and he raised his hands.

‘Hey, I wasn’t going to feed him to a tiger-bear or a sarlacc or anything like that!’ He paused and shot _that_ look at Mac again. ‘As long as he’s a proper gentleman who understands that our girl deserves nothing but the best…’ Jack trailed off, adopting a more conciliatory tone, when Diane and Riley shot him identical, terrifying _looks._ ‘…which I’m sure he does.’

Mac nodded.

‘I do, I promise I have no intention of hurting Riley in any way.’ Mac’s expression grew half-teasing, half-affectionate. ‘Besides, she’d never let me get away with it.’

That, at last, made Jack smile at him, and he finally reached out to shake Mac’s hand.

‘You know, don’t get ahead of yourself, brother, but I might just come to like you a little bit…’

Unnoticed by the two men, Diane and Riley just exchanged a knowing look and amused, exasperated little smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Kingskid, yet again.


	33. Thirty Three

**THE JEFFERSONIAN**

**WASHINGTON D.C.**

**2018**

* * *

‘…Trust me, if anyone can get an ID and a cause of death on our John Doe, it’s this guy.’ Riley Davis, FBI analyst, spoke with certainty as she led her team leader, Jack Dalton, and his partner, Desi Nguyen, through the Jeffersonian. ‘He and Jill helped crack the baseball forgery ring last year.’

Dr Jill Morgan (whose name Jack could never, ever remember) was their usual contact at the Jeffersonian. The crack forensic scientist consulted regularly with the FBI.

Desi, focused as ever, gave a nod as they strode through the corridors, towards the central lab occupied by the Jeffersonian’s finest.

‘I’ve heard MacGyver is the best.’

Dr Angus MacGyver’s reputation as the best forensic anthropologist in the USA, and possibly the world, _ever,_ preceded him.

Jack would have been aware of that, Desi thought, if he read more, but Jack claimed to be a scholar of the School of Life, not _school-_ school.

They reached the central lab just as she finished speaking…to find their John Doe (no more than a few pieces of skeleton who had stumped their usual M.E.) lying on an examination table, with a thing that looked a bit like a giant lamp over him.

(It seemed to be some kind of homemade device, since there were wires hanging out at certain places, it was made of at least four different ‘looks’ of metal and covered liberally with duct-tape. Desi could make out what looked like a magazine incorporated into it.)

Lying underneath said giant lamp was a blonde guy in a labcoat, who was doing something to the wiring at the base with a red Swiss Army knife and muttering to himself.

Jack and Desi exchanged a glance, their scepticism clear.

Riley didn’t expect any less.

Desi liked to plan. She was _not_ one to make things up on the fly; her adaptability (necessary in their field) came from planning for any scenario instead. Jack didn’t get science. At all.

And besides, no matter how you looked at it, Mac and his methods were just plain _weird,_ but he _did_ get results.

She walked closer to the examination table.

‘Hey, Mac.’

The blonde guy looked up from what he was doing.

‘Hey, Riley.’ He gestured with his right hand, still holding the Swiss Army knife, at the John Doe on the table. ‘I’m, uh, still working on C.O.D and I.D., there’s not much left of him to work with…’ That was an understatement, since they had three-quarters of a skull, half a ribcage and about a third of his limbs but none of his toes. ‘But I have an idea. Unfortunately, it’s pretty crazy.’

Riley smiled and arched a wry brow.

‘You say that like it’s unusual.’

That made Mac give a sheepish grin and a half-chuckle. Meanwhile, Desi eyed his contraption, while Jack crossed his arms a touch belligerently.

‘How in the hell’s this doo-dad gonna help, brother? Looks like a giant lamp from _Meet the Robinsons_ or something!’

Desi gestured with her head at Jack.

‘What he said, but with bigger words, better grammar and fewer movie references.’

Mac, still lying on the floor and critically eyeing a part of his whatever-the-thing-was, pointed vaguely in the direction of the skull.

‘We need to take better images for Boze to be able to do facial reconstruction to get you your I.D, and for me to take a look at for the C.O.D.’ He patted the base of the thingamajig. ‘Hence, this. I’m increasing pixel size to collect more light, raising lighting levels, and improving the sensors.’ Mac pursed his lips. ‘It’s, uh, going to take a while.’

Desi eyed him and the device he was building.

‘Then how about you just tell us what you need so we can help you, instead of just standing here?’

Mac looked a touch surprised at that, but nodded, and seemed to scroll though a mental list.

‘Okay, uh, well, Agent Nguyen, if you could go and buy a dozen packets of chips from the vending machine down the hall; probably best to get the spicy ranch flavour, that’s not all that popular, and I just need the wrappers…’ Desi didn’t seem to approve of that; spicy ranch was her favourite flavour, but strode down the hall anyway to plunder the vending machine. ‘…and Agent Dalton, if you could go grab the box of flashlights over on that table…’

Jack obediently went and fetched the box on the other side of the lab, grunting a little at the weight of it.

‘Man, where’d you get all these?’

Some of the flashlights looked to be in good condition, others…not so much. Mac sprung up in a way that made Jack’s knees almost-ache and made him feel an irrational little flash of jealousy, and started digging in the box of flashlights.

‘They were a gift.’

Jack raised an eyebrow. There was a lot of affection in the way he said that, like they were something special from someone special, which was…weird. Behind Mac’s back, Riley just gave a knowing smile.

‘You’re real weird, brother.’

Mac gave a sheepish smirk as he glanced briefly up from his flashlights.

‘Yeah, I get that a lot.’

Jack snorted as if to say, _no kidding._

* * *

**ONE WEEK LATER**

**JACK’S FAVOURITE STEAKHOUSE**

**WASHINGTON D.C.**

* * *

Jack, Riley, their boss Matty and Desi (who had _claimed_ that she was only coming along because she owed Jack – Desi didn’t _do_ celebratory dinners and out-of-work socializing with her co-workers…or, at least, she hadn’t two years ago when she’d been teamed up with Jack and Riley for the first time…it was _probably_ a joke now) sat at their usual table at their favourite steakhouse after another successful case closed, and another serial killer charged and in remand.

They’d just received their drinks (they were such regulars, ordering wasn’t really necessary anymore) when the front door opened, and Mac came in, followed closely by Jill, his team’s facial reconstruction expert Wilt Bozer, and the team profiler, Samantha Cage.

Mac smiled as he took a seat and Jack passed him a menu, giving the older man a nod.

‘Thanks for the invitation.’

Jack smiled back.

‘Couldn’t have done it without you, brother.’ They really couldn’t have. He gestured with his head to the menu. ‘Oh, and word from the wise: get the ribeye, blue. Real blue. Almost mooing!’

That made Mac look vaguely green.

‘Uh…I will, um, keep that under consideration.’

Jack blinked at the blonde.

Was this budding bromance doomed before it really began?

‘You one of those medium-rare guys?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Err…with apologies to _Bones_? Mac and Jack’s differences in steak opinions comes from a headcanon I developed in response to Jack saying to Mac in 2.07, Duct Tape + Jack, ‘you can’t cook’ in response to Mac offering to cook him a steak. Since Mac is really good at chemistry and promptly cut Jack off, I interpreted it as ‘Mac can’t cook a steak to Jack’s liking…or rather, failed to once and Jack has never let him forget it’. Of course, this headcanon doesn’t work as well as it did, since it’s been revealed that Mac really can’t cook, but I am going to let it live on!


	34. Thirty Four

**SOMEWHERE IN THE BACKWOODS OF WASHINGTON**

**(AKA THE WILDERNESS)**

**2007**

* * *

Jack, dressed warmly in nylon and wool, hiked through the woods with his backpack on his back (containing a small one-man tent, a first aid kit, some emergency rations, a compass and a compact sleeping bag), a knife in each boot, and a couple of dead rabbits that he’d caught in the snares he’d set.

This had been a good idea, just getting out here and back to the wild and all.

He ached a little less, if he didn’t think about it. Didn’t think about them and that night and how he’d just walked out, and how Diane had called out to him, how he swore he’d heard Riley’s voice just as he got out of hearing range…

It was easier than you might think, to not think about them while he was out here. Well, most of the time anyway. If he tried.

There _was_ the whole surviving in the wild and roughing it part, which was making him flash back to all the survival training he’d done as a Delta and while he was with the Agency.

(That had good memories attached to it, crazy and terrifying instructors and worrying you were gonna freeze or starve notwithstanding. Time spent with his brothers, the occasional quiet evening by the fire, making jokes while setting up the watch roster, never letting Lanier forget the time he’d hit his head on the shelter they’d built…)

Jack let himself think about that instead, rather than thinking about Diane and Riley and how much he missed his girls and how he absolutely _had_ to stay away.

(It was better that way.)

(Safer. He was always gonna screw it up eventually anyway – he wasn’t good enough for Diane. Not nearly. And he really didn’t want to mess up Riley. Kid had faced enough in her life.)

He was just pondering how he was going to cook his rabbits (not that there were a lot of options – Jack could do wilderness survival, but not wilderness _Chopped_ ) when he heard someone coming.

The footsteps were light, and clearly only one person. He forced himself to relax; Jack didn’t expect to be ambushed, nor did he expect to run into any hostiles.

Then again, he hadn’t expected to run into anyone at all.

A few seconds later, a teenage boy who couldn’t have been much older than fifteen or sixteen, if that at all, skinny and mostly legs and with wisps of blonde hair sticking out from under his woollen hat, appeared out of the trees, carrying a huge bunch of cattails lashed together. He was carrying only a small pack on his back and a red Swiss Army knife in his right hand, the cattails in his left.

He blinked in surprise at Jack.

Clearly, he hadn’t expected to see anyone out here either.

They _were_ in the middle of nowhere.

‘Don’t tell me you’re some runaway who watched _Into the Wild_ and got all inspired…I ain’t looking to adopt a kid, and I ain’t looking to play Obi-Wan Kenobi either!’

The teenager rolled his eyes, looking a little exasperated and annoyed, like he was very sick of being told he was too young for this or that.

(Jack was, rather painfully, reminded of Riley – all of sixteen and fiercely independent, insisting that she was all grown up.)

‘A, I didn’t come out here alone. B, I don’t _want_ to be adopted by a stranger I met in the woods. C, trust me, I can look after myself.’ That was said with confidence, but no trace of arrogance. Jack had to admit, with his cattails that’d been lashed together with long grass and the fact that he clearly didn’t look cold and the way he’d carried himself through the trees and acted like he was very much not lost, the kid was probably a really good outdoorsman. ‘D...I don’t know whether I should be impressed or cringing at the two movie references in a single sentence.’

Jack crossed his arms in mock-affront.

‘Impressed, obviously! I got a classic in there _and_ something recent, Oscar bait _and_ blockbuster hit!’

* * *

**TWO DAYS LATER**

* * *

‘…Grandpa and I come out here a lot.’ As Mac’s grandfather went out to check the snares they’d set earlier, Mac and Jack sat by the fire, Jack cleaning the fish they’d caught, Mac cooking ‘Cossack asparagus’. The teenager paused, stirring the cattails that were stewing in a soaking-wet bark bowl over the fire with a stick. His eyes went a touch thousand-yard-stare for a moment. ‘Camping trips are…special for us.’

The way Jack saw it, Harry Jackson and his grandson tended to go on wilderness survival training trips, not camping trips, per se.

He also thought there was a hell of a lot more to this story that Mac wasn’t sharing. The sort of thing that you didn’t want to share.

After all, he’d spent two days with the grandfather and grandson, out here in the wild where there was nothing but the thoughts in your head and the conversation you made, and Mac had never mentioned a mother or a father.

He had his grandfather, a best friend named Wilt Bozer who could probably turn cattails into a gourmet meal, an ex-girlfriend who was still a friend named Penny Parker, and a dog called Archimedes and an awesome former science teacher named Mr Ericson, but that was it.

When he was done speaking, Mac looked rather pointedly at Jack across the fire, clearly asking him why _he_ was out here, all on his own.

(To be fair, Jack had asked first.)

(Besides, Mac was smarter than a whip and a tack put together. That was one of the first things that Jack had realized about the kid – the others being that he was nice and earnest and just one of those people who exuded _good._ He was, probably as a consequence, _really, really_ curious.)

Jack sighed and put down his knife, staring into the fire.

‘My girlfriend and I broke up.’

Mac looked at him with sympathy, speaking in a way that seemed automatic, ingrained, but no less genuine for it.

‘I’m sorry.’

Jack stared into the fire for a beat longer.

‘Well, I guess more accurately, I left ‘em. Her and her kid.’ Jack glanced up at the teenager. ‘She’s ‘bout your age, actually.’

They lapsed into silence for a moment, Jack thinking about his girls (he couldn’t quite manage to think about them as anything else), Mac fidgeting a little, like he was debating internally.

Eventually, the teenager spoke, a touch hesitantly.

‘We all need to hold on to what family we have.’ His voice grew more certain, stronger, as he spoke. ‘If you love them, you don’t leave them behind.’ There was definitely something hurt and angry and bitter in there. Jack had definitely been right about there being something that Mac didn’t want to talk about in his past, about his parents. ‘As much as you might have screwed up…you _try_. You fight.’ That anger and bitterness and _hurt_ underneath it all grew stronger as Mac’s voice grew more vehement, insistent. He looked up at Jack across the fire. ‘You don’t just give up and _leave._ ’

* * *

**TEN YEARS LATER**

* * *

‘…ladies and gentlemen, your gourmet cattail dinner is served!’ With a flourish, Bozer started dishing up cattails from the cast-iron frypan he’d just taken out of the campfire, portioning them out on the sturdy, if slightly rough, metal plates that Mac and Jack were putting pieces of the fish and rabbits they’d caught earlier on. ‘Freshly foraged, all-organic!’

Sitting on logs by the campfire, Riley and Diane accepted plates from Bozer, the two women exchanging a look that couldn’t be described as anything other than fond amusement.

A little bit gingerly and sceptically, Riley took a bite of one of her cattails (she had great faith in Bozer’s cooking skills…but cattails weren’t exactly a good starting point to say the least). She chewed and swallowed.

‘Well, it doesn’t taste like used Q-tips.’

That was said as if it were a great compliment.

Bozer preened at that, and gave a silly little bow.

Meanwhile, Mac and Jack exchanged a look, full of affection and bones-deep contentment.

* * *

_You know, sometimes, I can’t believe we wound up here._

_What are the odds of a chance encounter in the backwoods of Washington, after all?_

_They’re only slightly better than the odds of a chance encounter in the backwoods of Montana!_

_Okay, okay, yeah, that was pretty bad. I’ve clearly spent too much time with Jack._

_But in all seriousness – I have never been so grateful that improbable is not impossible._

_And trust me, if you know me, that’s saying a lot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Kingskid.


	35. Thirty Five

**GIRLS’ NIGHT**

**RILEY’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

**2018**

* * *

‘…so I invited them to my wedding.’ Riley’s closest girlfriends (minus one) all stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. Jill’s eyes were very wide. Jessie crossed her arms and arched a brow at her. Leanna blinked a couple of times, her mouth opening as if she wanted to say something, but no sound came out. Sam’s expression was evaluative, while Dez snorted, put her feet up on the coffee table and crunched louder on the spicy ranch chips from the bag she was holding. Riley sucked in a breath, raising her hands, as sheepish as she ever was. ‘Yeah, I know, it wasn’t the brightest idea.’

She’d stumbled upon her mom’s old diary while she was searching for old photos to scan into her and Billy’s wedding powerpoint presentation. She’d intended to just put it away, not wanting to breach her mom’s privacy, but she’d dropped it and the pages it’d fallen open to had caught her eye…

Riley had never known her father. She had assumed that it was Elwood Davis, the man Diane had been married to when she was born, technically.

(The divorce hadn’t gone through yet.)

Her mother had told her that she’d left her husband (for good that time) when she’d found out she was pregnant with Riley, knowing that he wouldn’t be a good father, knowing that her baby girl, already precious, deserved better.

It turned out it was more complicated than that. _Much_ more complicated than that.

In the period nine and ten months before Riley’s birth, Diane and Elwood had been in the process of a messy break-up. Messy in the sense that it wasn’t absolutely final; there was a bit of what Diane had used the word ‘relapsing’ to describe.

At the same time, her mother had been friends (or, more accurately, friends with a little something extra, or non-platonic friends) with a US soldier named Jack Dalton. After Jack had been deployed, and after a massive last fight with Elwood, she’d wound up at a bar and had a one-night stand with a scientist called Jim MacGyver who was apparently grieving the anniversary of his wife’s death and just as drunk as her.

Ergo, it wasn’t _actually_ known who Riley’s father was.

Since that’d been a question that she’d asked again and again (albeit in different ways, first openly to her mother, then trawling through corners of the web, including ones she wasn’t meant to be in, then simply internally) as long as she could remember…it’d been a shock, to say the least.

Too much vodka later, and she’d sent out three extra wedding invitations before she could actually think about it.

Dez finished her chips, tipping her head back to pour the crumbs into her mouth.

‘That was a terrible idea.’ Dez was blunt. She could be trusted to never, ever sugar-coat things for her friends. Or for _anyone,_ for that matter. She gestured at the pile of snacks and the cluster of drinks and the notebooks that they were supposed to be using to plan the last-minute details of Riley and Billy’s wedding and gave a wry little smile. ‘Pass me a notebook, pour some more wine, and open that chocolate. We have a plan to make.’

That made all the other women smile too.

Riley could hack into Elwood, Jack and Jim’s devices with ease. With Jessie, Sam, Dez and Leanna on it, they could get DNA samples without them being any the wiser. Jill could run paternity tests.

And with their skill-sets and brains, no one would ever know about the web they were weaving.

* * *

**LAKE TAHOE**

**ONE WEEK LATER**

* * *

Moments after the door to the guesthouse on the sprawling property not far from Tahoe that’d been rented for the Davis-Colton wedding closed (Diane’s daughter and a couple of her girlfriends had unceremoniously herded Jack, Elwood Davis and some skinny, rather young blonde guy into it as soon as they’d arrived), Jack rounded on Diane’s ex-husband and crossed his arms.

Elwood sighed.

‘Long time, no see, Jack.’

The ex-Army man snorted.

‘Yeah, not long enough, Elwood.’ He eyed him suspiciously. ‘Can’t believe Diane invited you.’

Considering what she’d confided in Jack all those years ago about how Elwood could get when he’d had too much to drink, considering the scene Jack had walked into just three days before he deployed again, considering how he’d had to act, to stop him from throwing Diane around by throwing him around instead…

Elwood, surprisingly, just nodded in agreement, very seriously.

‘Yeah, me too.’

There was shame in there. It seemed genuine.

That confused Jack. It confused him a lot.

Leopards didn’t change their stripes.

Hence, he turned to the other guy who was in there with them, who looked a bit awkward and uncomfortable to be witnessing the conversation and was instead examining the rafters with far too much interest.

He was far too young to be some old friend of Diane’s. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Riley, if that at all.

‘How do you know Diane, brother?’

The blonde raised a shoulder. It was a little awkward. Jack was beginning to think the guy was just a little awkward full stop, not just awkward because of the awkward situation.

‘I don’t.’ He held up an invitation addressed to Jim MacGyver from Diane. ‘But apparently, my dad did.’

There was a _lot_ in that sentence.

Hurt and anger and bitterness. Hope and longing and desperate curiosity, a need to simply know.

A grown man who’d given up on his dad, who’d convinced himself that he wasn’t worth thinking about, and a little boy who’d idolized his father, wanted nothing more than his love and approval and pride.

The young MacGyver headed out the back door, apparently intending to go for a walk.

Jack, after a glance at Elwood, a look to warn him that he was watching him (which Elwood nodded in response to, apparently accepting it with good grace and resignation…which was seriously _weird_ ), followed the blonde, acting on a combination of instinct and heart.

(You had to be heartless to not be at least a little moved by everything in his voice, on his face, when he’d held up that invitation.)

(And Jack was far from heartless.)

* * *

‘…they’re crazy, man! Crazy! _Crazy!_ ’ Two days later, Jack, as he, Elwood and Mac were pulled around the lake on inner tubes attached to a boat by ropes, the boat driven by Jessie at very high speed, shouted at the blonde. ‘Wake up, brother!’

Jack had spent pretty much most of the time Mac had known him complaining about Riley’s fierce, very determined and somewhat odd group of girlfriends, spouting crazy conspiracy theories, including one that they were secretly a coven of witches who intended to sacrifice them to the full moon.

To be fair to Jack, Desi and Jessie _had_ practically forced them to go tubing. In the morning, Leanna and Cage had expertly manipulated them into doing some ‘last minute shopping’ for wedding supplies. The day before, Desi and Cage had dragged them fishing, leaving at dawn and not letting them come back until well after dark.

Besides, Mac was almost 100% sure that Diane _hadn’t_ invited Jack, Elwood and his dad to Riley’s wedding, and that their invite and the craziness they were being subjected to at the hands of Riley’s dedicated girlfriends was all part of Riley’s plan to work out who her dad _really_ was.

(Given the conversation that he’d had with Riley the night before, the promise she’d made him to try and get him answers about his dad…even though he wasn’t the best with this sort of thing, he was nearly as certain as he was about the first hundred digits of pi that she, too, was looking for her dad. Looking for answers.)

Mac rolled his eyes and sighed, adjusting his weight minutely to better stay balanced on the inner tube.

‘ _You_ are the one who apparently rode a rollercoaster in Vegas after eating at eight buffets!’

* * *

A couple of minutes later, Desi (whom Mac was fairly certain was in charge of this entire affair…she was _really_ intense) had apparently decided that they’d been dragged around the lake enough, so Elwood (who was looking somewhat green), Jack and Mac were drifting around the lake comfortably.

Mac glanced towards the shore, to find a brunette woman who was a few inches shorter than Riley having a conversation with the bride-to-be. The brunette seemed to be in a state of shock and had a hand on her temple.

(Mac guessed that this was Riley’s last girlfriend, who’d arrived only that morning, since she’d had to work. Getting several days off for a wedding of a friend was apparently actually impossible for an ER doctor. She’d probably just gotten blindsided by the whole plot her friends were pulling off.)

Then, Diane Davis started walking along the shore, towards her daughter, and before Mac, Jack or Elwood could even realize what was going on, they wound up tipped into the water, on the wrong side of the boat and pretty far from shore.

Jack spluttered as he came up for air, and shot Mac a _look_ that clearly said, _see, brother?_

‘I swear, man, they’re trying to do us in!’ Jack gesticulated wildly as best as he could. ‘They’re gonna drown us and take our spleens and turn ‘em into balloons while dancing ‘round a fire in the middle of the woods and…’

Mac sighed exasperatedly again and just started swimming to shore.

Jack, he had realized, said a lot of nonsense.

Crazy conspiracy theories, constant complaining, bizarre stories that didn’t seem to go anywhere, were filled with plot-holes and didn’t have a point, gratuitous movie references…

He had clearly spent too much time with the man over the last two days, because it was starting to seem like white noise.

White noise that helped him think.

* * *

Dez had been completely right.

This had been a terrible, terrible idea.

Riley swallowed as she glanced from Beth, who was standing there looking mortified and so very sorry, her hand clapped over her mouth, to Jack, Elwood and Mac, who were sopping wet, shivering slightly and sneaking up back towards their guesthouse through the woods (or were about to, anyway) and her mom, who looked betrayed and hurt and had so many other hints of emotions in her eyes (nostalgia, anger, a touch of fear, bitterness, regret, shame, maybe even a little bit of affection not completely lost over the years…) as she stared at Jack and Elwood.

A moment later, Diane turned her gaze to her daughter, looking at her in the exact same way that she had after Riley had come home from getting her bellybutton pierced as a teenager.

And just like that time, Riley took a deep breath and the whole story came spilling out.

* * *

_And that is the story of how I met my wife and the mother of my children and why the first thing she said to me was an order to take all my clothes off, how Jack reunited with Diane and became a father, how Elwood and Jack became the most unlikely of friends, how Riley and I both got the answers we wanted and found ourselves a dad…and how Bozer got the inspiration for his first hit movie._

_Yeah, I know._

_Some of the film critics said Boze’s movie was unbelievably unrealistic. They do say that the truth’s stranger than fiction._

_It was a long weekend and a wedding to remember._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an unashamed and bizarre fondness for _Mamma Mia_. Also, Riley’s girl gang could totally rule the world (with Matty’s help, of course!).


	36. Thirty Six

**FBI HEADQUARTERS**

**LA**

**2017**

* * *

‘…wait, wait, am I hearing you right, Janet?’ _Jill_ Morgan, forensic analyst, just nodded in response to Jack Dalton, star FBI agent (though he annoyed the hell out of the higher-ups and wore that as a badge of honour). Jack gestured at the Mafia boss sitting in Interrogation on the other side of the glass. ‘Someone robbed him and took him for almost everything he had?’

Jill nodded again, a wry little smile coming to her face after a moment.

‘Yup. On one hand, they didn’t have to worry about the long arm of the law…’

It wasn’t as if said Mafia boss was going to report the theft of his ill-gotten gains, after all, since it _was_ the very evidence that the FBI had been looking for for years to take him down.

Jack snorted.

‘Yeah, just gotta worry about winding up in concrete shoes down by Santa Monica Pier or something.’ Jack shook his head, bending down to read the file over Jill’s shoulder. ‘Whoever this thief is, they got a death wish, Jenny.’

Jill made a face that was almost a wry, slightly teasing smirk.

(Once upon a time, she’d been shy. Once upon a time, Jack had also not been able to remember her name.)

(Now, it was a little joke of his.)

‘I haven’t even gotten to the weird bit.’ She pressed a few keys on her laptop. Documents popped up, showing financial transfers to a couple of orphanages, three veterans’ support charities, a group that trained service dogs, two organizations supporting disadvantaged children through education and four domestic violence charities. ‘Whoever this thief or thieves is or are, they donated every last cent to good causes.’

Jack boggled.

What kind of nutcase robbed a seriously bad guy of a serious sum of moolah and gave every last cent to charity?

Well, obviously, someone with no sense of self-preservation, an insane hero complex and a disregard for the law.

Which meant his previous point stood.

Nutcase.

* * *

**APARTMENT BLOCK ROOFTOP**

**LA**

**FOUR MONTHS LATER**

* * *

Jack held his weapon at the ready, muzzle pointed at the lean man standing on the edge of the rooftop, dressed in black, a balaclava and sunglasses concealing his features, a couple of bags of stolen ill-gotten gains over his shoulder, taken from a drug lord’s lieutenant.

The Boy Scout robber, as he’d been dubbed.

For the fact that he only stole from bad guys and gave every cent of what he took to various good causes.

And for the fact that he either planned and prepared for every eventuality (impossible) or improvised incredibly well.

Plus, the last law enforcement agent to get even somewhat close to him had sworn up and down that the robber didn’t have a single weapon on him. Just a red Swiss Army knife.

‘You don’t have to do this, son.’

There had to be no way out for the robber, surely. Jack had him at gunpoint five stories up. He would never survive a jump unscathed. He’d either be dead or almost by the time he hit the ground.

For one moment, one brief second, the robber stared at Jack. He got the feeling, somehow, that whoever this guy was, he was looking him straight in the eye.

‘Yes I do.’

That was said with supreme conviction and stubborn determination in an unusually deep voice.

(Still, the voice sounded _young_ to Jack’s ears.)

Then, the Boy Scout robber jumped off the roof.

Jack swore, and sprinted the ten feet over to where he’d been standing literally half a second ago, bent over to look down…only to straighten up, coughing, as a huge plume of foul-smelling smoke that stung a little at his eyes rose up from the ground.

* * *

When it cleared, there was no sign of the Boy Scout robber.

(No body, lying broken, limbs at awkward, impossible angles, on the ground, balaclava waiting to be removed to show a too-young face…)

Instead, there was something made from a body-bag patched together with duct-tape, a fire extinguisher sealed to it through a length of tubing.

The fire extinguisher was labelled with the address of the medical clinic (closed) that Jack had chased the robber through.

Apparently, he’d stolen a couple of things to help him with his getaway.

From the street, Jack looked up at the rooftop, which seemed very high up from down here.

What kind of nutcase jumped five stories, hoping to cheat death based on some DIY science thing that Jack didn’t get, just because he was genuinely, utterly convinced that he had to keep playing some kind of modern-day, even-more-noble Robin Hood?

The FBI agent suppressed that voice in his head that simply said _a good man_.

(Jack was a big believer in justice. He was also acutely aware that the law sometimes failed to get that…and he’d toed a couple of lines, bent a couple of rules…well, more than a couple…to try and counter that himself.)

He shook himself a little, and refocused on arranging a grid search for the robber.

* * *

**JACK’S RESIDENCE**

**THREE WEEKS LATER**

* * *

After a long day, Jack walked in his front door. He headed for his favourite La-Z-Boy, and was just about to flop down on it when he saw the note on the coffee table.

It gave an address, somewhere in one of the seedier parts of town.

After that, there was a time and a date, plus the words _we should start a conversation._

It wasn’t signed, but there was a paperclip that’d been re-shaped into a Swiss Army knife lying next to the note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to a Guest. This was probably not what you were thinking…but I’ve never seen _White Collar_ , and my brain spat this out.


	37. Thirty Seven

**MISSION CITY HIGH**

**2005**

* * *

Mac sighed as he reported to Coach Wilson’s empty classroom after school. The football coach glared at him and pointed silently at a desk in the corner, before leaving to get his college friend whom he’d called in a favour from to ‘instil some discipline’ into Mac.

No matter what he said, Coach Wilson (and several other members of the Mission City High and Mission City Junior High faculty) refused to believe that the small nuclear meltdown that’d unfortunately destroyed the football stadium (which he and Bozer had solemnly dubbed the Football Stadium Incident and pinkie-promised to not talk about ever again) was an _accident._

(Thankfully, the police had eventually come ‘round on that, and his grandfather and Mr Ericson had believed him from the outset.)

He sighed again as the coach left the room, pointedly locking the door behind him, though not before shooting Mac a look that clearly said, _no funny business, boy._

The blonde nodded in response to that look, then, as the coach left, ran a hand through his hair and debated starting on his chemistry homework, knowing Darlene would ask to look over it to check her answers tomorrow morning.

(She always smiled at him in a way that felt really _special_ whenever she asked. It made him feel _special._ )

(Still, he was _not_ going to ask her to Prom, like Bozer kept trying to get him to do. They were Chem lab partners; he didn’t want to make it weird or awkward between them.)

(He’d really, really miss those special little smiles.)

At the same time, stoichiometry was pretty boring, and he could do it all in his head anyway, and he didn’t even have Chem until third period the next day…

At that moment, Mac’s eyes were caught by the only closed window in the room. Coach had opened all the others wide for ventilation, so it stuck out like a sore thumb.

Without even thinking about it, Mac went over to the window, and examined the opening mechanism, reflexively pulling the Swiss Army knife his grandpa had given him out of his jeans pocket.

Oh, that was the problem…

* * *

Jack opened the newly-unlocked classroom door (Wilson had headed off to run football practice, which was temporarily being held at a local park while the grass on what used to be the football stadium grew back), and almost did a double-take when he saw the boy inside, whom Wilson had described as a ‘juvenile delinquent’.

Kid sure didn’t look like one.

He was extremely blonde, and even more extremely skinny, seemingly mostly legs. The kid was wearing jeans (fairly neat, without any rips, though there were a couple of what might have been grease stains), a Henley and a flannel shirt over that.

He was also doing something to a window with a Swiss Army knife, which was more in line with what Jack had been expecting, based on Wilson’s tales over beer a couple nights ago.

‘You better not be repeating the Football Stadium Incident, kid, or another one of them incidents that’ve gotten you into hot water over the years.’

The boy, Angus MacGyver, made a noise of protest that was very _teenager._

‘I’m _fixing_ the window!’ He gestured at the mechanism. Jack noted idly that he had a streak of something that looked like a combination of grease and rust on his chin. ‘The mechanism that opens it is jammed, so Coach hasn’t been able to open it like the others, but with this…’ He held up his Swiss Army knife. ‘…and this…’ He held up a paperclip that was shaped like no paperclip Jack had ever seen before. ‘…I can fix it.’

Jack crossed his arms and studied the boy for a moment. He liked to think he was a pretty good judge of character. All Daltons had good gut instincts, it was practically their second last name.

Angus MacGyver seemed like a good kid.

(He was fixing a window for the teacher who hated him, after all.)

Jack nodded, and plonked himself down on a nearby desk, waving a hand.

‘Well, go ahead…’ He pointed seriously at the boy, then his own eyes. ‘…but I’m warning you, kiddo, I’m watching you.’

* * *

A few minutes later, Jack led the boy, who insisted that he call him Mac, out towards the school basketball court.

‘Now, I was gonna teach you how to play football, since me and Coach played in college and all, but you’re practically a stick, kid, so I gotta improvise.’

Unsurprisingly, Mac bristled a little, again in a very _teenage boy_ way when Jack called him a stick. Jack had never been scrawny himself, and certainly not scrawny in the way this kid was, but he remembered being a teenage boy well enough to have a little sympathy for him.

Surprisingly, he actually seemed to cheer up (rather involuntarily) at the mention of the word ‘improvise’.

Clearly, the kid was not only a real pain in the ass, he was also real _weird._

Jack tossed him a basketball.

‘Show me what you got.’

He got another surprise when the boy grinned with a touch of a smirk in the expression, dribbled the ball a few times as if testing it out, then got to work getting the ball past Jack and into the hoop.

He succeeded. Much faster than Jack thought he would.

He was quick, agile. Had good hand-eye coordination, was good at thinking on his feet.

Jack could work with that.

* * *

He wound up working with Mac twice a week, on Wednesdays after school and on Saturday afternoons.

The kid was a damn good basketball player, it turned out.

He was also, as Jack had thought, a fundamentally very good kid.

(Wilson was clearly a little biased. And had something against him. He’d always been the type to hold grudges.)

(It was just _really_ important to stop Mac and his big brain from getting bored. When he got bored, Mac tended to get completely lost in crazy ideas, get so caught up in some science project or the other, that you’d better duck for cover and hope the explosion wasn’t too big.)

(He really didn’t _try_ to be destructive. In fact, Mac was usually trying to help in some way. The destruction just…happened.)

Jack felt the boy kind of needed him. Needed an Obi-Wan Kenobi to his Luke Skywalker.

(His mom had died when he was five. His dad had abandoned him when he was ten. Mac had Daddy Issues, the kind that really did need capital letters.)

(He also had typical teenager issues – low self-esteem, bullies, an unrequited crush. Jack was no shrink, but he was pretty sure they were made worse by the fact that Mac was an actual Einstein-level genius – though Bozer said Mac was apparently technically smarter than Einstein – and two years younger than his classmates.)

(What had become known as the Darlene Martin Incident had had pretty substantial fallout. Bozer had dragged Mac out of a janitor’s closet that he’d broken into after asking the girl to Prom and getting shot down cold, apologizing profusely over making him lose that bet. Mac had then taken to insisting to everyone that he’d planned to not go to Prom in the first place, since there was a live shuttle launch on TV he wanted to watch. He was a terrible liar, so no-one believed him.)

(While Bozer and Penny Parker were at Prom, Jack had taken Mac out for burgers at Burger Nirvana, taken him for a drive in his Shelby Cobra, let the kid take a good long look at the engine and the suspension, then tried to half-listen to Mac’s lecture on space travel and rocket science while they watched the live shuttle launch. Bozer and Penny had stopped by afterwards with rocky-road ice-cream, and listened to Mac’s second space lecture of the night, so Jack was pretty sure the kid had had a pretty good Prom Night in the end.)

He already had a family. Already had a kid.

(Riley was a great kid, but she was also fiercely independent, determined to prove she was all grown up, and like Mac, was possibly too smart for her own good.)

But the nice thing about family was that there was always room for one more.

* * *

**HARRY JACKSON AND MAC’S RESIDENCE**

**MISSION CITY**

**EIGHT MONTHS LATER**

* * *

‘…hey, burgers are on the grill.’ Riley’s expression shifted into something that was half _you’re being really weird,_ and half-fond. ‘Bozer said to tell you guys, we’re thirty seconds from a taste explosion.’

Jack and Mac, who were sweaty and probably a little stinky and in the middle of game point (Mac was currently leading and had the ball in hand), both nodded at Riley. Mac gave a little smirk.

‘Yeah, we’ll be in soon.’ He gestured at Jack with his head, twisting quickly away with the ball. ‘I just got to put this old man out of his misery quickly.’

Jack snorted at that, blocking Mac’s shot at the basket.

‘Yeah, yeah, okay.’ He glanced over at Riley as he evaded Mac’s attempts to get the ball back. ‘Yeah, tell Bozer to brand a big-ass L on Mac’s burger, ‘cause I’m gonna take this little boy to school!’

Mac finally stole the ball back, and smirking, feinted around Jack.

‘Oh yeah, old man?’

Riley snorted and muttered something about testosterone poisoning, before heading back inside.

Bozer was probably going to continue to lecture her about making the perfect burger.

But he was actually kinda cute when he was being himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Clarissafrench.


	38. Thirty Eight

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

**2017**

* * *

Mac walked back into his house, getting a little lost in his own head as he stared at the letter in front of him, which was covered with postmarks indicating that it’d been, quite literally, all around the world, including to Buenos Aires, Montevideo, Kiev, Bangkok and Perth.

It’d been initially addressed to James MacGyver, and not knowing where else to send it, Mac had mailed it to the little cottage in Tahoe that his mother had adored, figuring that his father probably wouldn’t have sold it because of that.

The postal services of many countries had apparently failed to find him, because it’d been postmarked, finally, with return-to-sender.

Mac sighed, that little bubble of hope that’d been in his chest ever since that fateful day he’d sent the letter six months ago bursting.

(He’d just gotten home for good from The Sandbox, honourably discharged from the Army after eight years of service. He’d realized out there, after far too many near-misses – after Al and every other loss that’d piled up – that he would regret it forever if he didn’t at least try and rebuild their relationship and get answers to the many, many questions he had.)

The JPL engineer walked into the kitchen/living area, where his friends-who-had-become-family were preparing dinner.

Bozer, an FBI forensic accountant and his best friend since childhood, was putting together burgers at the counter, lecturing his girlfriend Leanna, also of the FBI, on the correct way of making a patty. On Leanna’s other side, her best friend, FBI white-hat Riley Davis, was chopping cabbage for coleslaw, ‘aided’ by her boyfriend, bounty hunter Billy Colton, who was grinning in a way that was almost a smirk. On the other side of the island, FBI forensic analyst Jill Morgan was pouring glasses of wine, while her boyfriend Alex Lucas, who just-so-happened to work with Mac at JPL (coincidences _were_ statistically inevitable) whipped cream using the modified hand mixer Mac had put together a couple of weeks ago. The whipped cream was going to go on the blueberry pie that Jill’s college roommate and best friend, Huntington’s ER’s newest attending physician, Beth Taylor, was taking out of a box.

Mac walked over to the counter, running a hand through his hair as several pairs of concerned eyes turned to him.

(Family was always a little too up in each other’s business.)

He held up the letter, a sardonic smile on his face tinged with bitterness.

‘My letter to my dad racked up a _lot_ of frequent flyer miles.’

‘I’m sorry, bro.’

Bozer, despite the mincemeat in his hands, reached out to somewhat-awkwardly give Mac a hug. Beth reached out and patted his arm gently, shooting him a sympathetic smile, while Jill pressed a generous glass of wine into his hands.

Meanwhile, Billy glanced at Mac, then gestured at the letter, which Mac handed over automatically. Billy was _really_ good at finding people. The bounty hunter started studying the letter as Riley looked over his shoulder. Between the two of them, they probably could have tracked down his father for him, but Mac had wanted to reach out and do it himself, something which they all respected.

Alex tossed him the 7-by-7 Rubik’s cube he carried everywhere with him, and with a little smile (he had a great family – even if he never found his father), Mac sat down and got to work solving it. When he was done a mere forty seconds later, there was a little bowl of candied nuts sitting next to his wine glass. Beth nudged it a little closer to him, and he smiled a little wider and passed the Rubik’s cube off to her after scrambling it, sipping some wine and tossing the nuts alternately into his own mouth and Alex’s.

Meanwhile, the delicious smell of Bozer’s burgers (‘It’s gonna be a flavour explosion, 100% guaranteed or your money back!’) permeated the air.

* * *

**FOUR MONTHS LATER**

* * *

‘…I’m sorry, man, but I can’t find him.’

Billy sounded apologetic, and frustrated. Idly, Mac noted that Riley had sounded much the same when she’d told him, a month ago, that his dad had literally no online presence, and hence, she wouldn’t be able to find him. It was like he’d disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Mac nodded in resignation. No offence to Billy, but he’d expected as much after Riley, Jill and Leanna’s digging, plus him, Beth, Bozer and Alex going through all the old things in the attic from his childhood home in Mission City (which he’d rented out after his grandpa passed) and chasing up any leads from there had come up blank.

(That had included a trip to Paris to talk to an old professor that his dad had corresponded with years and years ago that Beth had gone with him on.)

(It was universally agreed among his friends that letting him go alone and hence almost-certainly fall into the rabbit hole in his mind was a Bad Idea, and they thus refused to let him do it, no matter his protests that this was _his_ job, _his_ quest; they didn’t need to sacrifice their free time and vacation days.)

(Beth had gone with him because only she, Alex and Leanna spoke French, and it was the least awkward and weird to take her.)

(It was not, as everyone else liked to tease him, a romantic trip, some Grand Romantic Gesture he was using to _finally_ ask her out.)

(At least, that hadn’t been the plan. It’d kind of happened anyway. The title of the City of Love had to come from somewhere, Mac supposed.)

Mac reached out and grasped Billy’s hand, taking a step forward and patting him on the back, a gesture that Billy returned.

‘Thanks for searching.’

Billy smiled back at him, and held out the cake box he was carrying.

‘Mama sends her apologies too.’ Mama Colton, Billy’s mom, a formidable bounty hunter and family matriarch, made _excellent_ pies. Mac was 95% sure that inside the cake box was one of her famous buttermilk pies, the one that Beth said was _almost_ as good as pumpkin pie. (Given Beth’s irrational – and adorable - fondness for pumpkin pie – science-based pun unintended – that was saying a lot.) Billy’s expression shifted into something more teasing. ‘And she says you better share that with your lady, if you know what’s good for you.’

Mac chuckled, and nodded, taking the box.

‘Oh, I definitely will.’

Billy dipped his hat at him, then headed out of Mac’s home, as the blonde took the pie into the kitchen and put it in the fridge, before checking the time. Beth was still at work, and wouldn’t be off for another three hours…

Which gave him time to take one last look at that stash of letters they’d found. Maybe there was something they’d missed.

Maybe.

* * *

**ONE MONTH LATER**

* * *

His doorbell rang. Brow furrowing, Mac put down the old toaster he was fixing (the owner of his favourite appliances shop had sold it to him for practically nothing, as it was apparently ‘irreparable’), and walked over to the front door and opened it.

Standing on his doorstep was a very short woman whom he recognized as Bozer, Leanna, Riley and Jill’s boss, Matilda Webber, who was apparently almost-universally known as Matty to her face and Matty the Hun behind her back.

Without preamble, she held out a folder to him, which after a moment of hesitation and shock, he took.

‘For your eyes only.’ She said that was if it were a warning. Mac, still a little shocked, nodded seriously. Her expression softened a touch, he swore. ‘Good luck finding him, Baby Einstein.’

And with that, she turned and left, leaving him still processing and holding the folder.

He shook himself out of it, went inside on autopilot and sat down at his desk in his bedroom, opening the folder and starting to read.

* * *

**JACK’S RESIDENCE**

**FOUR DAYS LATER**

* * *

Jack was just sitting on his couch, watching Cowboys highlights on the big screen, when there was a knock on his front door.

He got up off the couch, idly wondering if his neighbour’s son Tommy had done something mischievous and slightly illegal again (like the time when he’d ‘stolen’ Jack’s stuff on some silly dare), and limped a little over to his front door (his knee was bothering him today, but he hated using the cane) and opened it.

On the other side, there was a young, unreasonably good-looking blonde man, looking somewhat awkward.

Something about him seemed vaguely familiar.

‘Um, hi. Mr Dalton?’ Jack nodded, and the blonde’s smile widened a little. He held up a piece of paper that Jack vaguely recognized. ‘My name’s Angus MacGyver, and I’m, uh, looking for my dad, James. I…I think you knew him, a couple of years ago?’

As soon as he heard the name, Jack couldn’t help but flash back to that fateful mission for the Agency. His very last, it turned out.

His knee ached a little more.

Still, he nodded at the young man who definitely deserved answers, all the ones that Jack could give, anyway.

(Jim had been a tight-lipped, arrogant, rather cold pain-in-the-ass, in Jack’s not-so-humble opinion.)

‘Yeah, I did.’ Jack opened the door a little wider, eyeing up the younger MacGyver for a moment. ‘You’d better come in, son.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Kingskid.


	39. Thirty Nine

**NASA MISSION CONTROL**

**HOUSTON**

**1970**

* * *

‘…if you’re just joining us, astronauts Jack Dalton, Caleb Worthy and Robert Reese are trapped over 200,000 miles from Earth, and are attempting to use the Lunar Module as a lifeboat to survive the return journey…’

NASA engineer Angus MacGyver, the youngest engineer employed at Mission Control by three years, listened to the radio broadcast with a rather grim and very focused expression on his face, as he ran schematics and numbers and half-baked ideas through his mind, toying with a paperclip all the while.

His colleagues in the room with him all had similar looks on their faces; next to Mac, his friend Charlie Robinson was staring at schematics for the LM. At the blackboard on one wall, Michael Taylor and Alfred Pena were scribbling with chalk, while Alex Lucas stared at the equations and diagrams they were producing and discussing, a look of intense concentration on his face as he solved a Rubik’s cube without looking.

The door opened, and in strode Matty Webber (otherwise known as Matty the Hun behind her back), Flight Director, and Jim MacGyver (who happened to be Mac’s dad, with whom he had a complicated and rocky relationship they were working hard to rebuild…with mixed results), Flight Controller and senior engineer.

Jim was carrying a LM lithium hydroxide canister for scrubbing carbon dioxide (which was round) and a CM canister (which was square).

He was followed by Jill Morgan and Riley Davis, from the Analysis and Computation Department, both women carrying boxes containing, among other things, a flight plan, a space suit and an assortment of plastic bags.

All the items that the astronauts on the Odyssey/Aquarius had with them.

Jim put down the canisters, and Riley and Jill tipped the boxes out on the table. The Flight Controller looked around the room.

‘We need to work out how to put a square peg in a round hole…using nothing but this.’

His eyes lingered on his son for a moment.

If anyone could work out how to do this, it was him and Angus.

Probably mostly Angus, he admitted to himself.

* * *

**TWO DAYS LATER**

* * *

Mac watched, his breath caught in his throat, along with the rest of the Western world, as the Odyssey re-entered Earth’s atmosphere.

He was exhausted, and probably also starving, but he hardly felt it.

(He had slept the bare minimum, possibly less, over the last couple of days, drinking huge quantities of coffee. He didn’t really remember eating, but was fairly certain that he’d at least ingested three sandwiches, an apple, two bananas and four chocolate bars.)

(Those had been items that he’d been essentially ordered to scoff down while working by Michael’s daughter, who had somehow barged her way into NASA by sheer force of will – multiple times – to feed her dad and his co-workers.)

If the parachutes didn’t deploy properly, if the heat shields had cracked…

He finally exhaled as the CM came into view, parachutes fully deployed, drifting gently into the Pacific.

When Dalton’s voice came through the radio, that burden that’d been sitting on his shoulders, pressing on his mind, since he’d been summoned to work late in the night four days ago, lightened considerably.

* * *

**THREE DAYS LATER**

* * *

Robert Reese grinned and reached out to grasp Mac’s hand, pulling him into a hug, which the young engineer returned.

He had come far too close too many times in the last week to never seeing his good friend again. Never getting to eat his incredible shrimp gumbo or have the twins tell Uncle Mac all about their latest fly-fishing trip with their dad again.

‘We can never thank you enough, Mac.’

Reese gestured with his head to Dalton and Worthy, clearly meaning the three of them.

Mac shook his head. Gossip spread fast; ‘the mailbox’ that’d adapted the lithium hydroxide filters was generally being attributed to him, rather than the whole team of engineers who’d worked so hard on it.

He might have come up with the ‘breakthrough’, having a lot of experience in (and a general fondness for) improvising using whatever you had on hand, but he could never have done it without them.

‘Just doing my job.’

Worthy smiled at him, reached out to shake his hand.

‘Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve thanks.’

Dalton, too, reached out and shook his hand firmly.

‘From what I heard, we owe you big time, brother.’ Dalton paused. ‘I’ve heard people talk about you. Never thought some weird nerdy little engineering wonder kid would save my life…’

* * *

**REESE FAMILY RESIDENCE**

**HOUSTON**

**ONE YEAR LATER**

* * *

Mac smiled as he sat down in the Reeses’ living room, a beer in hand.

The smell of Robert’s amazing gumbo permeated the air, and he and Rose were sharing a smile over the pot in the kitchen.

On the living room floor, Beth (Michael’s daughter who’d practically force-fed him during those terrible, long and slightly blurry days) was smiling as she braided Cassie Reese’s hair into a French braid like hers.

(Just about everyone was already teasing them about the story they’d tell their kids one day about how they’d met.)

Sitting on the couch were Caleb and Olivia Worthy with their infant son, along with Al and Rachel Pena. Jill was making adorable faces at the baby between glances outside to where Alex, Bozer, Riley and Charlie were playing basketball with Kyle Reese and Annabelle Pena.

Meanwhile, Diane Davis’ musical laugh echoed through the room as Matty told her a doubtlessly-embarrassing story about Jack, who looked put-out enough that Diane leaned over to kiss him on the cheek in apology.

There was a knock on the door, and when Robert yelled out ‘come in’, it opened to reveal Mac’s dad, holding a six-pack of beer in his right hand and a pie from Mama Colton’s in the left.

He and his son exchanged a glance, Mac giving a genuine, warm smile, something that Jim returned, albeit a little smaller and more reserved.

‘You and your old man really have made progress.’ Jack, plonking himself down on the arm of Mac’s armchair, shook his head and took a swig of his beer, a little like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Mac didn’t blame him. The general opinion at NASA was that Jim MacGyver was an emotionally-distant asshole firmly convinced of his own intellectual superiority over everyone else. Seeing the guy smiling in a way that could only be described as warm and actually affectionate had to be a bit of a trip. ‘I’m real happy for you, son. And real proud.’

Rebuilding their relationship had required Mac to be the better man, to forgive his dad for all his sins and let go of his well-deserved anger.

Mac smiled back at the astronaut, reaching out to clink his beer to Jack’s.

‘Thanks, Jack.’

Jack, Mac had realized soon after meeting him, said a lot of nonsense.

But he was also a very wise man, who always had a little bit of ‘Jack wisdom’ ready to dispense to his loved ones.

And those wise words and pieces of comfort and _just being there_ had helped Mac rebuild his relationship with his dad in a way that even he, with his gargantuan vocabulary, couldn’t adequately describe out-loud.

Still, Jack smiled back at him in a way that made Mac think that he got how much that simple _thanks_ had in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched _Apollo 13_ again, simply because it was on TV. This came out of my brain the next morning…


	40. Forty

**SOMEWHERE IN A FOREST**

**GERMANY**

**1945**

* * *

Jack Dalton, leader of a squad of elite US commandos affectionately nicknamed ‘Dalton’s Heroes’, stared at the rag-tag caravan of a couple hundred US servicemen in front of him.

They were all lean (too lean, in Jack’s opinion, bordering on starving) and their clothing was more than a little ragged. Some showed signs of injury.

But there was strength and spirit in their eyes, and several were armed with what he recognized as German rifles and handguns. Others carried long, thick sticks or planks of wood that suspiciously seemed to once be siding or fencing, or even things that looked like _crossbows_ made of twigs and shoelaces.

His squad had been sent to liberate a German POW camp holding US servicemen twenty-five clicks from their current position.

Given the scavenged weapons and the scavenged clothing (clearly German military uniforms) and even what looked like a section of a banner written in German being used as a sling for a man’s arm, the POWs had liberated themselves.

Though _how_ , Jack had absolutely no idea.

(It seemed conditions in POW camps were far, far better than some of the other camps for civilians run by the ‘Krauts, according to the reports that’d been trickling through, but it wasn’t as if they were vacation spots.)

Jack turned to a man with sandy hair and blue eyes, who appeared to be about his age and was holding a German rifle and had been leading the little advance scouting party that Dalton’s Heroes had very nearly ambushed, thinking they were hostiles, and asked the million-dollar question.

‘How’d you guys get outta there?’

With a glance at his fellows, the man gave a wry smirk, tinged with affection, as several of the other former POWs next to him smirked wryly too.

‘MacGyver.’

* * *

Ten minutes later, Jack was making his way through the column of ex-POWs, inspecting their condition as he thought how best to tactically approach this, given the curveball he’d been thrown.

(The original plan had involved stealing the ‘Kraut guards’ vehicles to evacuate the POWs. Or even commandeering a train, which Fitzy had been far too excited about.)

They were just one-and-a-half days’ march from Allied territory; they could make it, particularly since, as the man who’d led the advance party, Reese, had disclosed, the guards from their camp had been fairly easy to take out, driven into varying degrees of chaos, panic, fear and anger at the advances of the Allied forces.

Jack was pleasantly surprised as he inspected the troops.

There were fewer injuries than he’d expected, all things considered. Those who were injured had had their wounds field-dressed, many sporting makeshift crutches and/or leaning on one of their peers.

They also had better supplies than he’d thought. Apparently, part of the daring escape plan had involved stealing food and canteens and coats and weapons from the guards. Even now, during the rest break Jack had called, some men were refilling the group’s canteens, pouring water from a nearby stream (which Jack wouldn’t dare drink, knowing better) through chunks of tree branch. Another group were scavenging cattails from the banks of the creek, and as they passed, offered Reese some.

He took a couple and bit into one, making a face. Jack raised his brows at him.

‘You can eat those things?’

Reese chewed and swallowed, a wry look on his face.

‘Barely.’ He held up the cattails. ‘But I’m told 240 of these a day will fulfil all my nutritional needs.’

They passed another group who were roasting rabbits on a fire that was ideally positioned to minimize the smoke and light travelling. As they did, a couple guys carrying those makeshift crossbows returned with more.

Jack stopped by the hunters and flung up his arms.

‘Seriously, how’d you guys…’ He gestured vaguely. ‘…manage all this crazy Boy Scout merit badge stuff?’

There was another round of those smirks from earlier, and then a chorus of a single word.

‘MacGyver.’

Jack snorted incredulously.

How could _one_ man single-handedly orchestrate a prison break from a German POW camp _and_ manage to keep two hundred men fed well enough to march with nothing but what could be found in the woods and some scavenged/stolen supplies?

‘This MacGyver turn water into wine and feed a whole crowd with a few loaves and fishes?’

One of the crossbow-holders, an African-American man aged in his mid-late twenties, grinned.

‘Five bucks he could with a proper lab.’

Reese shook his head, a smile on his face.

‘No-one’s gonna take that bet, Robinson.’ He turned to Jack by way of explanation. ‘You don’t bet against Mac.’

* * *

At the back of the column, Jack finally met the by-then-famous MacGyver, who was strapping a man’s ankle with a strip of his own shirt and putting together a makeshift crutch for him from a couple of tree branches.

Jack didn’t know exactly what he’d been expecting, but safe to say, a skinny blonde man who was barely not a boy (in fact, he wondered if MacGyver had lied about his age on his enlistment forms), nattering on about something like the high tensile strength and compressive strength, but low shear strength of wood, wasn’t it.

He crossed his arms, voice incredulous.

‘ _You’re_ MacGyver?’

* * *

**MACGYVER FAMILY RESIDENCE**

**MISSION CITY**

**ELEVEN YEARS LATER**

* * *

‘…and that, kiddos, is how I met your dad-slash-Uncle-Mac.’

Jack grinned as he finished telling the story to the six kids in front of him. Seven-year-olds Hedy Bozer and Nicholas MacGyver looked sceptical, Hedy crossing her arms and snorting in a way that was _very_ reminiscent of her mother, while Nick raised an eyebrow like his dad and tilted his head to the left slightly like his mom. Four-year-old Ada Bozer looked rather enthralled (she loved a good story), while three-year-old Maria MacGyver was very wide-eyed. The MacGyver twins, meanwhile, slept soundly in their self-rocking cradles, which was pretty much one of the only three or four things they could do, since they were four weeks old.

There was a voice from the doorway behind Jack’s armchair.

‘You know, that’s actually 75% true.’

Jack turned his head to glare at Mac, who was leaning in the doorway, a teasing smirk on his face. The older man crossed his arms stubbornly, an affronted look on his face.

‘Is not!’

Mac’s smirk widened.

‘On second thoughts, 65% might be more accurate…’

Jack turned back to the kids, hoping to find an ally.

Given the four almost-identical mischievous smirks and grins on the little faces in front of him, he wasn’t going to get one.


	41. Forty One

**MAC, BOZER AND RILEY’S LAB**

**SOMEWHERE IN THE WOODS NEAR MISSION CITY**

**(THE LOCATION IS TOP-SECRET)**

**(THEY PINKIE-SWORE!)**

**2002**

* * *

Eleven-year-old Riley Davis crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow sceptically as one of her best friends, Mac, finished detailing his plan to break up his mom and her new boyfriend, Mission City High’s new football coach, Jack Dalton.

(Coach Wilson had retired last year to Florida after Mac had accidentally burned down the football stadium in a small nuclear meltdown.)

Meanwhile, Bozer, Riley’s other best friend, grinned widely, rubbing his hands together.

‘Seriously, bro, this is gonna be _awesome_!’

(Riley was pretty sure that part of his enthusiasm was because he thought this whole plan was going to be really awesome – and really funny – in the movie he was going to make about Mac’s life one day.)

(Her best friends were dorks. And idiots.)

(But they were her dorky idiots, and, she was sure, two of the best people – and _the_ best dorky idiots – she’d ever meet.)

‘Are you sure you want do this, Mac?’ They were best friends. They supported each other, no matter what. But that also meant they asked each other the hard questions. Riley raised a shoulder. ‘He makes your mom happy.’

James MacGyver had died when Mac was only five years old. Ellen MacGyver was an awesome, badass lady who definitely didn’t _need_ a man (like Riley’s mom Diane), but that didn’t mean she didn’t _want_ one.

She hadn’t had a boyfriend or even really dated for years, until, just a few months ago, she’d met Jack.

Mac glanced between his diagram on the treehouse wall and Riley, a rush of guilt flowing through him.

There wasn’t anything _wrong_ with Jack, not at all. He didn’t raise any (pretty obvious) red flags like Elwood Davis, and besides, Riley had hacked into his computer to double-check.

Mac actually quite liked him. Jack had even bought him an old toaster for his birthday a few weeks’ back.

It just was…he and Mac’s mom simply weren’t well suited to each other. At all.

Jack was really silly and goofy and had an annoying habit of telling weird, long-winded anecdotes that never went anywhere, had multiple plot holes and had no relevance to the conversation that they interrupted. He also had no understanding or knowledge of Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics or the Laws of Thermodynamics, and couldn’t do stoichiometry or even calculus. Jack didn’t even _like_ science, had _failed_ fifth grade science and relied on movies and TV (science-fiction, not science _fact)_ for all his scientific knowledge. He thought all of Mac’s experiments, some of which he did with his mom, were weird and didn’t care to hear about any of the meaty, real scientific details. The _good_ bits.

Ellen MacGyver was a brilliant, dedicated, devoted science teacher who absolutely exuded passion for her subject. The MacGyver house was full of books and posters and models on topics ranging from Tesla’s inventions to black holes to volcanos to organic synthesis to the brain. She even had several Ms Frizzle dresses, and always, always dressed up as her for Halloween. She also hated football, which Jack adored.

It was just never going to _work._

And since they didn’t seem able to see that at all, he felt that it was his job to help them see.

(He loved his mom dearly. He wanted her to be happy, because she deserved everything good in the world.)

(He liked Jack too, and wanted him to be happy as well. He got a gut feeling that Jack deserved it too.)

(He just didn’t think they’d wind up being happy _together_ for long, and, well, it was better for them – better for all three of them, a little voice in Mac’s brain said – that they realized that sooner rather than later.)

(Before they got too attached.)

(It’d hurt less.)

(Some wounds, Mac knew, intimately, empirically, never quite healed properly.)

So, he nodded at Riley.

‘Yeah. It…’ He swallowed, that guilt welling up again, followed by doubt, which he quashed. He had to be tough now, like his dad, think of the big picture, the greater good, like his mom always said his dad was really good at. ‘…it has to be done.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s been one of those days in the lab…I dropped my compound into an oil bath and had to channel Mac (and ask our lab’s resident MacGyver) how to get it out again (or at least try; not sure if it’s worked yet…)


	42. Forty Two

**ON-ROUTE TO THE HOLLYWOOD HILLS**

**LA**

**2017**

* * *

‘…You alright, son?’ Jack Dalton, former Delta, former CIA, now an Uber driver (forced medical retirement, a long history of pissing off the higher-ups and the fact that he’d not paid much attention in college had really limited his options), glanced at his passenger, an unreasonably blonde and unreasonably handsome twenty-something named Angus MacGyver. Said passenger was shaping a paperclip into what looked like a rose, had slightly manic hair due to running his hand through it too many times and was muttering under his breath about being an idiot and getting himself into this mess, whatever this mess was. He turned to glance at Jack when Jack spoke, looking a little surprised, even a touch incredulous, maybe. Jack shrugged. ‘You got no idea how many therapy sessions I do, brother, trust me.’ He grinned in a way that had a bit of a smirk in it. ‘And I been around the block a couple of times, man…’ He reached up and tapped the side of his head. ‘Might not look like it, but I got some real pearls of wisdom in here!’

The blonde finally smiled. It was a little smile, but one nonetheless, so Jack counted it as a win. He tossed the rose-shaped paperclip onto the dash.

‘It’s a long story. And I, uh, signed an NDA.’

Jack waved a hand in a _pshaw_ gesture.

‘Don’t worry ‘bout that. Uber driver-passenger confidentiality!’

That got a sceptical eyebrow-raise from the younger man. Even so, he considered for a moment, before he opened his mouth and told Jack the juiciest bit of gossip or rumour he’d heard in all his time as an Uber driver.

Considering he drove in LA and had a 5-star rating and was willing to pick up people at all hours of night…that was saying a _lot._

‘Well, uh, it all started when I was asked to do an interview about the Phoenix Foundation. It’s, uh, a charitable organization that assists war veterans-‘

‘Oh, I know the Phoenix, brother.’ Absent-mindedly, Jack rubbed his right knee as they stopped at a set of traffic lights. ‘You do good work.’

That made MacGyver pause, and he glanced at Jack with a question in his expression. Jack just nodded in response, and a moment of understanding and empathy passed between them.

‘Colombia, 2008.’

The younger man pulled up the bottom hem of his left trouser leg a few inches, revealing metal and plastic instead of flesh.

‘Afghanistan, 2013.’

* * *

 

**KILLER BURGERS**

**LA**

**TWO HOURS LATER**

* * *

‘…that’s _crazy,_ brother. Real, real crazy.’

Jack spoke with his mouth full of fries. Mac nodded in agreement as he took a bite of his hamburger (which he was holding upside down for some bizarre reason), chewed and swallowed.

Somehow, the poor kid had gotten himself into a _huge_ pickle.

Mac had been helped by the Phoenix Foundation when he’d first come home wounded from Afghanistan. Once he was back on his feet, he devotedly donated his time and resources to help other wounded warriors.

(It helped that he was an engineer for a biomedical company run by one of the Foundation’s founders.)

He’d agreed to do that interview, both to raise awareness of the Phoenix Foundation and its cause and in exchange for the generous donation ABC was offering.

It’d snowballed as he was, to his surprise, very popular, and he’d wound up being asked to do several other interviews and panel appearances.

(Jack, on the other hand, was unsurprised. He might have just met him, but he could already tell that Mac was really weird and a bit awkward and kinda dorky, but that he was also charming in a really earnest, wholesome way and was all twisted steel and sex appeal, even if Jack suspected he probably didn’t look in the mirror enough, since he was too busy using it to reflect laser beams or something like that.)

And now, thanks to an extremely conniving, cunning and just plain sadistic network executive named Dennis Murdoc and a heap of really complicated legalese that even Mac didn’t get and Jack had no hope of ever comprehending, Mac had been shanghaied into appearing as the latest Bachelor.

Jack scarfed down the rest of his fries, then reached out and patted the younger man on the shoulder.

‘Hey, it can’t be too bad, right, son? There’s gonna be a whole crowd of real good-looking women all fighting over you…’

Mac actually looked uncomfortable and nervous and slightly terrified at that.

(That, Jack thought, said a lot. He idly wondered if the young man had some kind of self-esteem issues or issues with women. Or maybe he didn’t even swing that way.)

(In his experience, bomb nerds were universally brave, to the point where they weren’t so good at the whole self-preservation thing.)

Jack continued, stealing a couple of the blonde’s fries without even thinking about it.

‘…then again, catfights, weird-ass challenges, no privacy, some of ‘em are probably in it to get Insta-famous and all…and how’re you even gonna remember all their names?’

After a moment of just staring at Jack, buffering or processing or something, Mac adopted a very wry expression.

‘That’s the least of my worries, Jack.’

‘You got one of those ideatic memories, don’t you?’

‘Eidetic. You mean eidetic. And technically, no…’

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

**THREE HOURS LATER**

* * *

As Mac got out of the car, Jack was suddenly struck by an idea.

‘Brother, I think I can get you outta this.’ Jack’s expression grew wry. ‘Least, I know someone who might be able to get you outta this…or I used to know her, anyway…’

* * *

**TWO MONTHS LATER**

* * *

‘…ABC executive Dennis Murdoc has been arrested…’

‘….sending ABC’s programming into turmoil, in particular, the latest season of _The Bachelor,_ following shocking revelations…’

Sitting on the couch in Mac’s living room, Jack turned to the young woman sitting next to him, a proud grin on his face.

‘You did real good, Riles. Real good.’

That got a smile back from the young hacker, one that tugged at Jack’s heartstrings, the sort of smile that he’d wanted so badly, tried so hard to earn, when she was a kid.

Mac, sitting in the armchair, nodded, looking over at Riley very seriously, earnestly.

‘Thank you _so_ much.’

Bozer, Mac’s best friend and roommate, called out from the kitchen.

‘Who’s up for a super-special flavour explosion? Since we’re celebrating and all!’

They all made noises of enthusiastic assent. Bozer’s burgers were _amazing._

Then, Jack smirked and pointed at Mac.

‘You know, brother, we really oughta find you a girl.’ Jack spread his hands innocently as Mac shot him a _look._ ‘Hey, if you weren’t a bachelor, this whole bugaloo wouldn’t have gone down in the first place!’

* * *

_Jack’s logic is sometimes questionable and always…interesting._

_Unfortunately, in this case, between you and me, he’s actually, technically, right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this was really, really cracky, I know. It’s probably also a prime example of the weirdness of my brain. You see, I was trying to work out why there was no _MacGyver_ episode on the 8th of March, when 3.17, Seeds + Permafrost + Feather, was pushed back for the R. Kelly interview. I was on the CarterMatt website, and reading an article in which they made a joke about Murdoc being an evil network executive. This blended with the recent announcement of the latest star of Australia’s version of _The Bachelor_ (an astrophysics PhD student) in the same week, and gave me this.


	43. Forty Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sexual harassment in this one. (Not of or by a canon character, and the perp is taken care of.)

**THE CHALLENGER CLUB**

**(A BAR)**

**LA**

**2015**

* * *

Jack sipped his beer at his little table in the quiet corner of the bar, people-watching as he idly ate beer nuts, tossing them casually into his mouth.

It’d been a long week at Homeland (he still couldn’t believe that Matty the Hun had gone out of her way to recruit him, sometimes, considering Chechnya), and he was unwinding a little before he went home and parked himself on one of his La-Z-Boys to watch Cowboys highlights or maybe the OG _Die Hard._

There were flyboys and other Air Force guys from the nearby base everywhere. Jack could spot a military man, even out of uniform, a mile away, he reckoned.

(Okay, well maybe not a mile away, but he was pretty good at picking ‘em, even if he said so himself.)

There were the usual office drones out for drinks after work (pretty obvious and easy to pick too), and a couple of female medical residents, a biracial woman of maybe twenty-three or twenty-four who’d apparently dragged her younger companion (Jack reckoned she couldn’t be much older than twenty-one, if at all), a brunette Caucasian girl, out on a rare night off to help her get over her break-up.

(That, he couldn’t get from observing them; he wasn’t Matty or Samantha Cage, the only Aussie at Homeland and another one of Matty’s personal recruits – Jack was still trying to work out how the hell she’d wound up there, but Cage and Matty had never even dropped a hint of a hint.)

(He’d just happened to overhear a snatch of the girls’ conversation earlier.)

At a table off to the side, there was a young African-American guy in a purple plaid waistcoat, an equally-young colourfully-dressed cheery, carefree brunette with a lot of bracelets and a lean blonde guy who was even younger whom Jack’s gut insisted was a military man, pretty fresh from a tough rotation if he had to bet, even if he was currently laughing at something that the other young man was saying.

(Something about the look in his eyes when a car had backfired outside. Jack knew that look well, having seen it in his brothers’ eyes and in the mirror more often than he’d have liked.)

Jack leaned back in his seat, tossed a couple more beer nuts into his mouth and debated getting another beer as he polished off the last of his first.

* * *

He was just heading over to the bar to grab another drink when he went past one of the medical residents, the petite brunette. She was sitting on her own and looked _very_ uncomfortable, since an admittedly-handsome flyboy was smirking cockily at her and apparently not taking no for an answer.

‘…uh, thanks for the offer, but really, I’m fine. In fact, I’ve got a shift at the hospital tomorrow, so once Ri- uh, my friend, gets back from the bathroom, we’re heading home-‘

The flyboy smirked wider, reached out and put an arm around her waist, too quickly for her to wriggle away, making her flinch and try to pull away.

Jack noted the man tightened his grip and changed course, heading closer instead of towards the bar.

‘…perfect, we can skip right to the part where I rock your world, babe-‘

‘ _Please leave me alone_!’

Jack really wanted to punch this guy. Flirting was fine, but it was always up to the girl in the end. She made her wishes clear like that, you had to scram. Didn’t he know that?

(He had a feeling that the brunette’s friend would probably have managed to get rid of the guy by now – if not kicked him in the balls or something – but this girl was either too shy or too polite or too awkward or too oblivious or all of the above.)

Jack had been raised right, and despite occasional appearances, was a gentleman when it really mattered, so he strode over, crossed his arms and pinned the flyboy with his best Wookie stare.

‘She clearly ain’t interested, man. Get outta here.’

The flyboy grinned in a way that was seriously slimy, trying to pull the trainee doctor closer to him, even as she resisted and finally managed to scoot away.

‘She’s just playing hard to get.’ He eyed the empty beer glass in Jack’s hand. ‘Go get yourself a refill, old man.’

Oh, Jack _really, really_ wanted to punch this guy.

Several things happened in the next few seconds.

The brunette woman protested, very vehemently and very clearly.

(‘I am _not_ playing hard to get, I would like you to _go away_ and _leave me alone_!’)

The flyboy (arrogant bastard with no respect for women that he was) smirked, said something about that being ‘classic’ and a sign that he was ‘getting somewhere’, reached out and grabbed her long braid, twisting it around his hand and pulling her in for a kiss.

Jack, with the reflexes of a Delta and a CIA operative, punched him hard in the face.

* * *

**THREE MINUTES LATER**

* * *

There were times, Jack knew, when you had to take a couple of blows or cuts or even bullets for a good cause, to do the right thing.

Blood made the grass grow.

He didn’t move as well as he used to (Colombia had taken care of that), but he could still dish out the knuckle sandwiches. He could take one or two or even three jumped-up flyboys.

He’d underestimated the popularity of the arrogant bastard, however.

Jack staggered a little as a guy who was actually bigger than him landed a solid punch to his stomach, and was just about to retaliate with a little trick Sarah had taught him years ago when the guy suddenly fell over, practically flat on his face, tripped suddenly by something that looked like a bola, if a bola was made of a leather belt and a bottle of cleaning liquid.

Jack didn’t have time to think about _how_ , because he had to dodge the headlock that the arrogant bastard, blood streaming from his nose, was trying to put him in.

* * *

**FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER**

* * *

‘…well, that wasn’t exactly an unexpected outcome.’ The lean blonde guy that Jack was leaning on (he’d headbutted the arrogant bastard a little too hard and was seeing stars, plus, one of his buddies had gotten a good blow or two in) gave a very wry smile as he helped Jack sit down on the curb. Then, he went back to retrieve his belt, which had been tossed out after them when the bouncer had tossed them out of the bar. (The bastard and his friends were still inside, getting banned…and having the bar’s owner, a former Air Force chopper pilot named Cynthia, rip them a new one.) The blonde put his belt back on, then held out a hand to Jack. ‘My name’s Angus MacGyver, but everyone calls me Mac.’

Jack, despite still kinda seeing stars and knowing that he was going to have an impressive shiner in the morning, grinned back at the younger man, shaking his hand firmly.

‘Jack Dalton.’

At that moment, the arrogant bastard’s unlucky victim of the night walked out of the bar, her friend’s arm around her shoulders, Mac’s female friend on her other side. His other friend was grinning at all three women, loudly, eagerly and enthusiastically describing the food at Mama Colton’s diner down the block.

‘…and she does _the_ most amazing buttermilk pie. Now, the flavour’s subtle, but the texture and the perfect crust…’ He grinned wider, and gestured down the street with a half-bow of sorts. ‘So, ladies, wanna end the night on a _delicious_ high note?’

The taller resident (Ri?) glanced at her friend, clearly saying the choice was up to her. The small brunette girl considered for a moment, before smiling rather sheepishly.

‘Well, I can never say no to pie…’

That got Mac’s friend to grin even wider, and he motioned to Mac and Jack.

‘Come on, bro!’

Mac jumped up so quickly and agilely that it made Jack’s knees feel jealous, then offered the older man a hand with just a touch of a teasing smirk, and the two of them fell into step with the other four.

* * *

_The funny thing about family is that you can find them in some really unexpected places._

_Though, funnily enough, despite the fact that I’m a pacifist, I met most of my family as a direct consequence of a fight._

_I really should calculate an estimate of the odds on that…_

_Beth always says I live an improbably improbable life._

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**THREE YEARS LATER**

* * *

Jack grinned as he hauled a tray of marinated meat out to the grill on the deck. He put it down next to the grill, then called out, addressing Mac’s brown-chino-clad legs, which were sticking out from behind the grill as the blonde made some repairs to the barbecue.

‘How’s it looking, brother?’

‘Uh…give me a minute.’ There was a clanging noise. Then another. ‘Yeah, I can fix this.’ Mac’s grease-stained hand came into view. ‘Beth, can I borrow a bobby pin?’

The brunette doctor and former damsel-in-distress smiled in a way that was full of affection and tinged with exasperation and definitely teasing as she pulled a pin out of her hair and put it in Mac’s hand.

‘I’m not going to get that back, am I?’

That made Jack smile as he headed back into the kitchen to grab some more food, leaving the supervision of Mac in Beth’s capable hands.

(Mac usually needed supervision with a stove or a grill. He had a nasty habit of burning the deck boards, singing his eyebrows and/or setting off the fire alarm if left alone with a fire source and his brain running wild.)

Bozer was supervising as Penny plated up and Riley stirred his homemade BBQ sauce on the stove, wearing his _Kiss the Cook_ apron. He shot Riley a _look_ as she stole a spoonful of the sauce. She looked utterly unrepentant, and eventually, Bozer failed at his attempt to look stern and leaned over to peck her cheek, before ‘confiscating’ her spoon.

Jack had never, ever seen any of this coming when he’d punched that arrogant bastard in the face.

After pie at Mama Colton’s that night, the two groups of childhood friends (Mac, Bozer and Penny had grown up together in Mission City, while Riley and Beth had been best friends ever since Riley and her mom had moved to West Lafayette from LA when she was ten to escape her abusive alcoholic of a dad) and Jack had somehow become friends.

And then, they’d somehow become family.

Along the way, Bozer and Riley got together, fell in love and were planning on moving in together now that Riley was done with her residency and had gotten a job in LA.

And, Jack thought, with a glance over at the deck, where Mac had just finished cleaning grease off his hands with half the tube of the hand lotion that Beth carried everywhere with her and she was helping him clean the streak of grease off his cheek, their boy and his girl might actually be properly starting something _at long last._

(Jack was firmly of the opinion that it’d all started that night at the diner, with a maths-and-pie joke that only they and Riley had gotten – and only Beth had laughed at – scrawled by Mac onto a paper napkin.)

(It had both progressed rapidly and not gotten anywhere at all in the intervening three years, but Jack had hope - and a back-up plan if Mac kept dragging his feet – that now that Mac wasn’t deploying anymore, having gotten out and become a JPL engineer, and Beth wasn’t working insane hours as an ER resident or serving with MSF in Syria and had settled into an attending physician’s job in LA, it was finally the right time for them to start something.)

(Bozer reckoned they should just ship them off to Vegas to get married by a Bill Nye impersonator.)

(Sometimes, Jack agreed with him, even if he thought going classic and getting the King to do it was a better idea.)

(Besides, where did one find a Bill Nye impersonator?)

* * *

The doorbell rang, and Jack smiled a little wider, a little softer.

(Unbeknownst to him, Penny, Bozer and Riley exchanged a significant, teasing look. Mac and Beth would have too, if they’d seen, but they were distracted as Mac was showing her the latest addition to his prism collection, which was unfortunately not a euphemism.)

He strode over and opened it, to reveal Diane Davis, Riley’s mom, standing on the other side.

Diane smiled at him, then leaned over to kiss his cheek.

Jack stood there, a little stunned just like he had been last Christmas, then at Charades Night last week, staring at her, for a moment.

Diane Davis was a heck of a woman. Way out of his league.

He had definitely never seen her coming either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Kingskid. This was definitely never meant to be so long…or so shippy, but it somehow snowballed…


	44. Forty Four

**CHARITY CALENDAR PHOTOSHOOT FOR THE PHOENIX FOUNDATION**

**(IT’S AN ORGANIZATION THAT HELPS VETERANS THIS TIME)**

**(THOUGH THE RISING FROM THE ASHES METAPHOR STILL FITS)**

**LA**

**2015**

* * *

‘Bomb!’

‘Get out of here!’

‘Run!’

Jack Dalton, one of the DXS’s finest, cursed as he flung his very expensive camera to the ground.

(Wardrobe was _not_ going to be happy about that.)

They’d gotten intel that one of the vets acting as a model for the photoshoot had gone to the dark side and planned to attack the event on behalf of a home-grown terrorist organization. Hence, Jack had been sent undercover as Bryce Villanova, decorated fashion photographer largely active in Europe, to investigate and prevent the attack.

Unfortunately, the intel hadn’t been quite right.

The vet hadn’t really flipped; he was coerced via the kidnapping of his girlfriend, forced to get one of the attackers into the event as a caterer.

Which had allowed said terrorist to plant the bomb that was currently less than two minutes from going off.

At least Jack didn’t have to worry about evacuating all the civilians present. A dozen or so of the vets, all models for the shoot, had that in hand, so he concentrated on spotting that damn caterer in the chaotic, panicked crowd.

(It’d been a ‘family’ event, with many of the vets involved with the Phoenix bringing their spouses and kids.)

He finally caught sight of the man about a hundred feet away, on the other end of the warehouse, smirking as he almost leisurely made his way towards an exit.

Jack cursed him, his temper almost boiling over, kept in check only by his years of training and experience.

He forced himself to look away from the terrorist, and back at the bomb.

Jack was no bomb nerd, but he knew enough to know that that thing was massive, and that if it went off, a good number of people would be caught in the explosion.

There were wounded warriors who couldn’t move fast. Little kids who’d gotten separated from their parents.

Some people, despite best efforts, wouldn’t get out in time.

Jack had to do _something_ about that bomb, even if he didn’t know what that was.

He hadn’t even taken a step towards it, though, when a young, handsome blonde man ran past him, towards the bomb.

He looked like he was straight out of a boyband, except for the burn scars peeking out from under his shirt collar and on the backs of his forearms exposed by his rolled-up shirt sleeves, and the hint of more scars revealed by the unbuttoned top button of the button-down he was wearing. He also, Jack noted, moved so well that you couldn’t tell that his left leg didn’t end in flesh and blood.

Jack hadn’t really spoken to the guy, as Bryce hadn’t gotten to shoot him yet, but Angus MacGyver had stood out even among the profiles of all the war heroes that were the subjects of the calendar that Patty had made him read.

Dropped out of MIT to join the Army as an EOD tech. At twenty, distinguished himself and set a company record with his partner, Charlie Robinson, on ‘The Day of the Thousand IEDs’. That same day, he had discovered a core part of the M.O. of the notorious bombmaker, The Ghost: impersonation of those who were supposed to be there, or expected to be there. Hiding in plain sight. He had then become the only person to see the man’s face and survive.

Immediately, he’d been reassigned to a special taskforce whose mission was to take The Ghost down.

Nine months later, The Ghost, knowing that he was almost caught (or, as the whispers in the intelligence community went – knowing that he’d met his match in MacGyver), had set a terrible trap.

The taskforce had been pinned in a compound with a dozen Afghani civilians, under enemy fire. They’d discovered a bomb planted inside.

MacGyver had disarmed it with time to spare, only to find another bomb, even more complex and devious, inside.

There had been no time to disarm it.

In an act of desperate genius and incredible courage, MacGyver had wrapped the explosive in his body armour and run through enemy fire towards a well in the courtyard, dumped the bomb and his vest down it just seconds before it detonated.

He had only survived due to sheer dumb luck. Backup had arrived seconds after the explosion, enabling his squadmates to administer first aid.

Fittingly, he’d received the Medal of Honour for his actions that day.

Jack was thus unsurprised that MacGyver had run _towards_ the bomb, instead of _away_ from it like any sensible person.

Once a hero, always a hero.

As he stopped in front of the explosive, the blonde glanced very quickly at Jack and called out.

‘Go!’ He gestured vaguely in the direction the terrorist had walked off in. ‘I’ve got this!’

With no hesitation and a very quick salute, Jack took off at a run.

* * *

Later, with the terrorist and all his little terrorist pals under SWAT guard, Jack and Thornton stood side-by-side as MacGyver finished speaking to the local bomb squad. With a round of friendly handshakes, the blonde then turned and walked towards them.

He paused in front of the two of them, glanced at Thornton, slightly warily (which told Jack that he had _some_ sense of self-preservation, at least), then at Jack.

‘You’re not a fashion photographer.’

It was absolutely a statement, not a question.

Jack, being Jack, just grinned and pointed at him.

‘Got me there, brother!’

Beside him, Jack swore that Patty face-palmed internally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some self-promotion – while we wait for Season 4, I’m writing my own take on it! It’s called _The Measure of Our Lives_ , and I just finished writing the first ‘episode’, which will post next Sunday, Australian time. 
> 
> Here’s the ‘press release’: 4.01, Homemade. A desperate Kovac attacks the HQ of Jack’s taskforce, apparently leaving no survivors. The grieving team is tasked with finishing Jack’s last mission, but they’re in for a surprise. For once, it’s a good one.
> 
> The lead-in, which is also my episode tag to 3.22, Mason + Cable + Choices, _Bad and Worse_ , is already up. Please do check it out!


	45. Forty Five

**WASHINGTON D.C.**

**2014**

* * *

Angus MacGyver, known to the world as Captain America, and to his friends as Mac, stared at the man on the bridge, the one who’d just tried to kill him and his thankfully not-Hydra SHIELD partner, Desi, and very nearly succeeded.

(Thankfully, Mac was good at improvising and had grabbed a manhole cover to use as a shield, and Desi was of the opinion that Kevlar was a girl’s best friend and was always prepared.)

It _should_ be impossible.

Then again, so was the fact that he was born in the 20s, but was here in 2014, biologically still very much in his twenties.

And the fact that he’d once been a 5’2’’ eighteen-year-old who barely weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet and had at least four health problems that disqualified him from service in the military, but was now what the modern world called a ‘superhero’.

Professor V (and even now, that loss – not too many years ago for him; time had stood still in the ice – still stung; he’d _believed_ in him, seen something in him, something worth amplifying) had always said that impossible was not a scientific term.

Mac was completely positive that the man standing on the other side of the now-broken bridge was Jack Dalton, the older soldier who’d taken him under his wing when he was just a young man (barely not a boy) in a body that didn’t feel like his own, shown him the ropes, taught him how to deal with the darkness and kept him out of the rabbit warren in his mind better than anyone Mac had ever known.

Never mind that Jack had fallen over two hundred feet from that train.

(Mac swallowed, pushing that memory away.  The one that still haunted him and surely always would. Ignoring the sound of Jack’s last words to him – ‘ _this ain’t your fault_ , _son’_ , followed by a scream - and of his own voice crying out his friend’s name on that fateful day, wretched and heartbroken and full of raw desperation and grief and anger and guilt.)

Never mind that if he hadn’t fallen, if they’d come home to L.A. miraculously in one piece in 1945, Jack would certainly have passed from old age by now.

He took a half-step forward, called out.

‘Jack?’

The man turned.

There was genuine confusion on his face, tempered by some kind of disturbingly artificial blankness.

‘Who the hell is Jack?’

* * *

Several very long days later, Mac stood at Arlington, staring at the grave they’d put in while he was under the ice.

Of course, he’d always known that Jack Wyatt Dalton wasn’t there, buried with dignity and honour and as much of what he deserved that could be given.

But he’d always thought his friend was still lost somewhere in the Alps, had always planned to go back for him, one day.

(When the world was safer. When he’d done what he could in this more complicated time to help people, to save innocent lives.)

(He’d always thought Jack would have approved of those priorities. Jack had always believed that he had a gift, and they’d been in firm agreeance that thus, he had a duty to use that gift to help the world.)

(Unlike practically everyone else who’d thought so, Jack had believed that he’d _always_ had a gift. Professor V’s serum had just given him a greater chance to use it.)

Instead…now, Mac was kicking himself for not going back for him earlier, as soon as they’d taken that train.

If he had, then maybe…

Mac swallowed, shook his head, trying to push those thoughts away.

There was no point in dwelling on things he couldn’t change. Problems he couldn’t fix.

He heard footsteps, and turned to face the four individuals approaching him that he could hear. They came into view a few seconds later.

Desi. Riley Davis, SHIELD white-hat. Wilt Bozer, the low-level SHIELD forensic accountant who’d been assigned personally by the then-Director of SHIELD, Matty Webber, to help Mac acclimate to life in the 21st century.

(Bozer had become his first friend in the future – and his best friend. Matty had chosen very, very well, just like she always did.)

And the ‘deceased’ former SHIELD Director herself.

Matty held out a dossier to Mac.

‘Everything we’ve got.’ Her expression softened in a way that only they and a select handful of other individuals, like Agent Cage or Forensic Analyst Jill Morgan, got to see. ‘Good luck, Baby Einstein. Bring him home.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, _technically_ not a first meeting…but I couldn’t not do this one!


	46. Forty Six

**JACK’S RESIDENCE**

**2009**

* * *

Jack smiled, soft and fond and affectionate, as he hung up after a phone call with Diane, the two of them having finalized the details for the long-weekend getaway to Tahoe that they were taking with a somewhat-reluctant, typical-moody and insistently-independent teenage Riley.

He had honestly expected to be tossed out on his ass when he’d shown up on their doorstep after Caleb had stopped by, gotten him out of his funk and shared the news about the littlest Worthy, now all of a month old.

Caleb’s news had gotten Jack thinking about the little Jacks he’d never have, which, as always, ultimately led to thinking about Riley, and Diane, and the family he’d thrown away.

After Colombia…he didn’t want to leave this Earth with regrets, so he’d shown up at their door, and somehow gotten forgiveness.

More than forgiveness, actually. He’d found his family again.

Now he just had to find something to do with himself.

Jack had gotten out of the Army, but that didn’t mean he was done with helping people.

(It didn’t mean he was done with the high-adrenaline career either. At this point, he was kinda a junkie. He kinda missed living on the edge, if he were honest.)

The problem was, he didn’t want to return to the CIA or any kind of career where he’d have to lie to Diane and Riley and where the job could follow him home, putting them in danger. Not to mention, he didn’t want to have to be away from them for months on end either.

That ruled out most of the jobs he had the skill-set and experience for, unfortunately.

He supposed he could return to college (thanks to G.I. Bills), but Jack was a student of the School of Life, not _school_ school. He’d probably fail Biology 101 and Physics 101 and Chemistry 101 again.

With a sigh, he turned the TV on to some random channel, which happened to be showing the news.

A burning forest. Destroyed homes. A death toll higher than most terrorist attacks.

On the other side of the world, south-eastern Australia was burning. Black Saturday, the locals were calling it.

The image changed, switching to a water bomber dropping its load on a fire-front.

_Huh_ , Jack thought. He could fly a turbo-prop.

* * *

**SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA**

**2018**

**(DURING THE DEADLIEST CALIFORNIA WILDFIRE SEASON EVER RECORDED)**

* * *

‘…alright, people, we got a briefing with the Army Corps of Engineers, and then we’re gonna get up in the air ASAP.’

Almost ten years later, Jack finished addressing a whole host of Cal Fire pilots as they, half-dressed in their flight suits, jogged to the meeting room.

He noted the sombre looks on most of the men and women’s faces. Even he, characteristically light-hearted and goofy, felt it.

These were the worst fires they’d ever seen.

Even worse than last year.

There were a lot of people and their homes and businesses in real danger.

They arrived at the meeting room, where a large map of the active fire-fronts had been projected onto the wall. Standing in front of it, in a very serious and urgent conversation, were two men in military uniforms with the insignia of the Army Corps of Engineers. One was slightly taller, almost-completely-grey-haired and held the rank of Lieutenant-General. Coupled with the fact that his nametag read ‘MacGyver’, it was obvious that this was the Corps Commander, Chief of Engineers James MacGyver. Interestingly, the blonde Major (who was very, very young to be a Major – he absolutely couldn’t be older than his mid-late twenties) next to him also had a nametag that read ‘MacGyver’.

In the past, Jack might have made a comment about Major MacGyver’s age or straight-out-of-a-boy-band appearance or the fact that it appeared his dad was his commander, but after nearly a decade of working pretty closely with the Army Corps of Engineers, he knew you didn’t make it that far up the ranks without really having the goods.

So, he just nodded at the two men, and after an answering nod, they started the briefing.

* * *

‘…our number one priority is the Camp Fire.’

A fire that, according to the map, had only been spotted twenty minutes ago, but based on the wind direction and strength and its location, it was going to rip through several communities in a matter of hours.

Maybe even less.

‘Fire trucks can’t get access, so you’re the only line of defence.’ Major MacGyver indicated a handful of towns in the area on the map. ‘This isn’t going to be a containment effort.’ The conditions were absolutely terrible. Everyone in the room knew that that was going to be futile. He turned back to the pilots, something that Jack could only describe as earnestly desperate and desperately earnest on his face. ‘We’re buying time to evacuate Concow, Pulga and Paradise.’

Jack, looking very grim, exchanged a glance with his fellow aerial firefighters.

‘Hate to be the one to say it, but with the wind, we can’t get up there, brother…’

The MacGyvers exchanged a glance, before the senior one spoke.

‘We have a plan for that.’

‘Unfortunately, it’s pretty crazy and somewhat dangerous.’

Jack glanced at his fellow pilots, many of whom were ex-military, again, and gave a dark-humoured grin.

‘Sign us up!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In memory of the lives lost in the 2018 California wildfires, and the 2009 Black Saturday bushfires here in Victoria, and in thanks to real-life heroes.
> 
> In other news – Season 4 is going to have a mid-season premiere. On one hand, this means I’ll probably finish _The Measure of Our Lives_ before the real Season 4 starts…on the other hand, does this mean we’ll get a half-season/truncated season? And I suppose this is a bad sign for the show in general, too, the fact that CBS took its timeslot and isn’t starting it in autumn?


	47. Forty Seven

**AN AIRBNB**

**(A VERY FANCY ONE)**

**LAS VEGAS**

**2016**

* * *

Jack Dalton, thief and con-man extraordinaire, walked into the backyard of the huge house in Vegas that Matty and Thornton had rented, and surveyed those sitting around.

He recognized a couple of faces.

A heavily-tattooed Asian woman had her booted feet up on an expensive-looking chair and was eating ranch dip straight out of a bowl with carrot sticks. Desiree Nguyen (Dez to her friends, Desi to everyone else) had pulled a couple of cons with Jack a few years back.

Sitting next to her was a slender, almost-ethereally-beautiful blonde woman with blue eyes that were almost disconcerting when she looked at you. Jack looked away quickly; he was a _believer_ , and Samantha Cage sure could seem to read minds.

There was a blonde woman with glasses typing intently on a laptop, whom Jack recognized from a previous job with Matty and Thornton, but for the life of him, couldn’t remember her name. Jenny? Janet? Jules? Something like that…

There were also faces he didn’t know. Young faces, too, he noted. There was an African-American man with immaculately-styled facial hair in a purple three-piece suit talking with a pair of slightly lighter-skinned women (one with curly hair, one with pin-straight hair), trying to make them laugh with some (from what Jack could hear) pretty lame jokes. (It was kind-of working; the women kept exchanging these looks that were very much _I don’t know why I’m even finding this funny…but it is._ ).

And a skinny blonde guy in a leather jacket by the food, who looked far too honest to be a thief, and too awkward, given how he was standing by the food and looking around.

_Huh_ , Jack thought. Maybe he’d been recruited to distract some socialite or something.

(He did look like he’d fit right into some boy-band, after all.)

Still, because his stomach grumbled loudly, Jack made his way over. He picked up something that looked like a fancy pig-in-a-blanket and held it up.

‘These any good, brother?’

‘Uh…’ The blonde guy didn’t even get a chance to reply before Jack stuffed the whole thing in his mouth. ‘Well, they’re delicious…’ Jack grabbed another one and stuffed it into his mouth too, earning a look of mild disgust from the blonde. Yeah, he was far too earnest to be a thief. ‘…as you’ve, uh, just found out.’

* * *

Silence fell across the group as Matty and Thornton finished briefing them on the job.

Finally, Jack, being Jack, broke it, gesturing at the two women.

‘Breaking into the Bellagio- Mirage-MGM-Grand vault?’ He raised his hands. ‘You know I got a lot of respect for you two, but…have you lost it? It’s _impossible_!’

Thornton arched an eyebrow at him. Matty just put her hands on her hips, a smirk playing on her lips, and gestured with her head to the skinny blonde boy-band guy.

‘Got anything to say about that, Baby Einstein?’

He, too, gave a little smirk.

‘Oh, nothing’s impossible.’

He got up, caught the marker Thornton tossed to him one-handed, and started scribbling on a large glass window.

‘…the vault uses a triple-redundancy system, but we can disable it if we trigger a cascade of local failures…’

* * *

**TWENTY MINUTES LATER**

* * *

Jack blinked once, then twice, as the blonde, Mac, finished explaining the plan.

It was absolutely nuts. One part called for a well-placed gum wrapper.

Slowly, Jack grinned, and pointed at the blonde.

‘Brother, that might just work…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Clarissafrench.


	48. Forty Eight

**THE STARSHIP _USS PHOENIX_**

**SOMEWHERE IN THE ALPHA QUADRANT**

**2258**

* * *

Captain Matty Webber looked into the brig, where her Head of Security, Lt Commander Jack Dalton, was sporting a bloody nose and arguing loudly (and vehemently with lots of gesticulating) with Ensign Angus MacGyver from Engineering, a brilliant young officer straight out of StarFleet Academy. The Ensign had a black eye.

She glanced up at her First Officer, Commander Desiree Nguyen.

‘…let me get this straight. Blondie over there was testing his _experimental transwarp beaming_ algorithm…’ Matty was no scientist, and neither was Desi, but all StarFleet Academy cadets learned in Transporter Theory 101 that transwarp beaming was _impossible_. ‘…and accidentally transported Jack’s Beowulf ring…’ Which he was obsessed about, since he was Jack, even though he’d picked it up from some cheap roadside vendor while on shoreleave on Risa for ten credits. ‘…to… _somewhere in this universe_?’

Desi nodded, a touch of a wry, sardonic smile on her face.

‘With 90% probability, MacGyver says.’

Matty sighed internally and crossed her arms.

‘Of course.’

She was _not_ looking forward to writing an incident report on this. She also made a mental note to assign somebody to MacGyver-minding duties.

(She’d mentally separated him from his legendary father. He had to prove himself to her…and he also got the benefit of the doubt.)

(Still, he was clearly as bad as Jim was when he got an Idea.)

Desi just nodded.

‘Yup.’

For one surreal moment, Captain and Commander returned to watching the scene in the brig as the noise escalated.

‘…You coulda used a grapefruit!’

‘Where the hell would I get a grapefruit out here? It’s not in the replicator rations!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to _Star Trek_. Some self-promotion – _The Measure of Our Lives’_ first episode is now up, as well as its DIY episode tag!


	49. Forty Nine

**MISSION CITY JUNIOR HIGH**

**MISSION CITY**

**2019**

* * *

‘…so, whaddya got after lunch?’

Cassie Reese, brand-new to the school, along with her twin brother Kyle, pushed her copy of her timetable closer to Ralph Jerico, a boy in her Drama class who had a fondness for smart-mouthing Mr Bozer. He and Valerie Lawson, a gangly girl with glasses who was apparently really smart and in Ms Davis’ IT class with Kyle, leaned closer to take a look, as did Annabelle Pena, the sunny-natured girl who’d introduced herself to them at the front gate and seemingly taken the Reeses under her wing.

(Military brats could usually spot others of their kind.)

‘PE with Coach Dalton.’

For some reason, that got grins out of the other kids. Cassie and Kyle exchanged a look, then glanced at their new friends. Ralph, smirking mischievously, leaned back in his seat and explained.

‘It’s Mr MacGyver’s free period.’

Annabelle grinned.

‘They’re in the middle of an _epic_ prank war.’

Valerie, with a slightly hero-worshipping look in her eyes, stopped building whatever she was building with her cutlery, napkin and juice box and continued.

‘Last week, Mr MacGyver made lightning in the Gym. Before that, it was a bubble-blowing Roomba that kept following Coach around.’

Ralph chuckled at the memory.

‘Coach is _terrified_ of robots. Like seriously terrified. It’s _hilarious_.’

Cassie and Kyle exchanged another glance. The teachers at their old school definitely hadn’t done prank wars.

‘How did this all start?’

Their new friends all shrugged.

‘It’s been going on for _years_ apparently.’

‘So we don’t know for sure.’

‘But there are _rumours_.’ Ralph smirked. ‘I heard that when he first started working here, Coach Dalton used to make fun of Mr MacGyver, ‘cause his name’s Angus, like a hamburger!’

That got giggles out of all the kids except Valerie, who returned to building her thingamajig. Cassie was pretty sure Mr MacGyver was Valerie’s favourite teacher.

Annabelle shrugged, and gestured around the room.

‘Tina says her big brother Tommy said that the prank war started when Coach pranked Mr MacGyver in revenge for breaking Ms Davis’ heart when they were teenagers. Or if you ask Eleanor, it’s because they _fell in love with each other at first sight, but are in serious denial, and it’s the UST._ ’

That probably didn’t hold much water. Coach Dalton was Ms Davis’ stepdad, and Kyle had seen him in the office talking to Mrs Davis-Dalton, the school receptionist, and they seemed just as grossly-in-love as his parents.

‘…Ralph, it’s not because Mr MacGyver crashed into Coach’s Shelby Cobra. There are no signs of any damage and subsequent repairs on it…’

* * *

Riley and Bozer just exchanged an amused and knowing glance as they walked past the table of kids debating the origins of Mac and Jack’s admittedly-truly-epic prank war.

They would never, ever believe that it’d really all started over something as mundane and stupid as the last Cheese Danish in the staff breakroom on Jack’s first day.

(Bozer was still in two minds about whether he was going to change that in his movie to something more exciting, like what the kids had come up with, or just keep it the way it was, ‘cause irony and humour and all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to RobinP (and helloyesimhere for the Cheese Danish). I know I stretched the definition of ‘first meeting’ here…but come on, cute kids! Prank war! Look over there! :P


	50. Fifty

**A WEDDING**

**(UNFORTUNATELY, THEY’RE CRASHING IT)**

**(IT’S FOR A MISSION)**

**CALIFORNIA**

* * *

‘…I just can’t believe that you’re-‘

Mac, standing by the food table in a smart blue suit, was cut off by his partner, in a burgundy formal dress and heels that he knew she could kick bad guys’ butts in. Dez rolled her eyes and helped herself to another of those fancy pigs-in-a-blanket, dipping it generously in the ranch dressing.

‘As you’ve said three times, Mac.’ She turned to face him, speaking the blunt, unvarnished truth as always. ‘We signed up to serve. I have a job to finish.’

Kovac had somehow survived that takedown. She had no idea how, but she wasn’t done until he was.

(Orders were to put him in the morgue. He was too dangerous to be kept alive, even locked up in super-max.)

Mac sighed, but nodded in acceptance and understanding.

‘It’s just not going to be the same without you.’

Dez smiled that little smile of hers, the one that meant mischief.

‘Of course not. You’ll miss my sparkling personality.’ That made Mac snort. Dez was far more than his partner; they were family, and he loved her dearly, but she was one of the prickliest people he’d ever met. If not _the_ prickliest. She finished her pig-in-a-blanket and browsed the food table for other treats, glancing at him as she picked up a mini-quiche. ‘Matty let me hand-pick my replacement.’ That mischievous little smile was back. ‘Life’s about to get…interesting for you.’

Mac raised an eyebrow.

‘That…sounded like a warning.’

‘It was one.’ Dez paused, pretending to ponder. ‘He’s got pounds and inches on you, but you do use your head better…’ She smirked a little. ‘He won’t kill you; he owes me.’

Mac’s eyebrow rose further.

‘Uh, thanks?’

‘You’re welcome.’ Dez’s expression grew serious, and as soft as even Mac ever saw it. Dez had a soft underbelly (anyone who saw her with animals, especially dogs, could tell that), but she defended it so well, hid it so well behind her prickly professionalism, that not many ever really got to see it. It was a great act of trust (and love, even if she’d never call it that or say it out-loud) that Mac, Riley, Bozer and Matty got to see it. ‘There’s nobody I’d trust more to watch your back. He watched mine, and never let me down.’ With Dez’s high standards, that really was a lot. She held out a plate of food to Mac, back to being bossy and snarky, that moment of vulnerability gone as fast as it’d appeared. Dez could give you whiplash until you got used to her. ‘Now, go give these to Riley; a girl’s gotta have some fuel for fending off creeps.’

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**ONE WEEK LATER**

* * *

Mac’s security system went off as he was getting out of the shower after his run. Quickly throwing his clothes on, trusting the system to keep the would-be intruder at bay (Dez had tested the system when they’d first been recruited by the DXS – thoroughly – and had continually forced him to upgrade it over the years), he hurried to the front door, opened the panel next to it in the wall, and looked at the bulky, middle-aged brunette man on the screen that was revealed.

Jack Dalton. Dez’s replacement. Mac recognized him from the dossier his partner had given all of them.

He was also cursing, since he was continually taking hits from the bean-bag cannon (Mac was a big proponent of less-lethal technologies, something that he and Dez had generally managed to find agreement on, since he’d managed to make quite a lot of them pretty effective).

Mac was just about to disable it when Dalton seized a rock from the front yard and tossed it at the cannon with perfect aim, disabling it in a rather permanent way.

Mac sighed. There went his plans for their current spare toaster.

He opened the front door, and arched an eyebrow at Dalton.

‘Dez put you up to that?’

It would be the sort of thing she’d do. Dalton looked from Mac to the bean-bag cannon and back again for a moment, a bit sceptical, before nodding.

‘Yeah. Classic Dez, eh?’ Mac nodded, ignoring that little pang in his chest. He missed his partner, already, and she’d been gone less than a week. Dalton held up the brown paper bag he was holding, which smelled like breakfast, grinning and pointing at it. ‘But this is all me. Can’t go wrong with breakfast sandwiches, brother, and this place had some real good Yelp reviews…’

* * *

A few minutes later, Mac and Jack (he said no-one called him Dalton except his boss when said boss was angry at him) sat on Mac’s couch, eating breakfast bagel sandwiches.

(Jack had bought him two, both poppyseed, which meant that Dez had chosen to share some kind of dossier on him with his new partner.)

Jack apparently also didn’t do companionable silences, because he was complaining about LA traffic, after having regaled Mac with a tale about how he found the breakfast sandwich place, and the decision-making process he’d gone through selecting the sandwiches.

‘…it took me half an hour to get there, man! Ten miles!’

Mac nodded, swallowing his mouthful of bagel.

‘LA traffic is a downside.’

Jack nodded, taking a huge bite of his bagel and talking with his mouth full.

‘Grub’s real good here, though.’ He polished off his own breakfast bagel sandwich in one huge bite, then passed the second poppyseed one to Mac, his expression growing serious. Soft and sympathetic, too, Mac thought. He was clearly very different from Dez. This was going to take some getting used to. ‘Look, I know this ain’t easy for you, brother. Dez was family, I ain’t.’ He held up his hands. ‘Swear I ain’t trying to replace her, cross my heart and hope to die…’ He actually did the hand motions, albeit incorrectly. Jack then smiled and raised a shoulder. ‘But reckon you can squeeze another seat ‘round the table?’

After a moment, Mac, too, smiled, and gestured with the breakfast sandwich he was holding.

‘This is a good start.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Kingskid, though this got twisted around a bit in my brain. I felt this was a good one for number 50!


	51. Fifty One

**AN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE**

**LA**

**2011**

**THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT**

* * *

‘…Boze, there is _no such thing_ as ghosts.’

Mac’s best friend gesticulated rather wildly, pointing at the warehouse in front of them that he’d been filming scenes for his latest movie in. He’d dragged Mac here in the middle of the night to show him the ghost that was haunting it. Or so he claimed.

(Mac trusted his best friend not to _lie_ to him, but this was either an elaborate prank, probably in revenge for what Mac had done to the turkey baster the week before, or Bozer’s over-active imagination had gotten the better of him.)

‘There is, bro! I swear!’ Bozer led him into the warehouse, his body language changing to something _slightly_ fearful, even as Mac sighed and shook his head, but followed his best friend anyway. ‘Uh…how’s it going, Jack?’

Bozer addressed the air rather loudly. Mac’s eyebrow rose further.

And then, a second later, his eyes widened as the semi-transparent outline of a brunette, middle-aged man with a bulky, muscular build appeared, floating several feet off the ground.

‘This the non-believer, Bozer?’

Bozer nodded.

‘Yup. Mac, this is Jack. Jack, meet my BFF!’

Mac didn’t really respond to the introductions, since he was too busy searching the warehouse for a projector, mirrors, a smoke machine, heck, even an experimental hologram-producing device, Bozer thought, knowing his BFF.

He found none, of course.

‘This is impossible.’ Mac sounded rather shocked, like the world had turned upside-down on him. ‘This is _impossible_. _This_ is impossible. This _is_ impossible _._ ’

Jack snorted and muttered something about that really being code for _does not compute._

Bozer, now concerned that he’d broken his best friend, patted him on the shoulder comfortingly.

‘Remember what you’re always saying Professor V used to say?’

* * *

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

* * *

Jack groaned as Mac walked towards him, holding a weird scanner-like thing that looked like the lovechild of a vacuum cleaner and an ultrasound machine.

‘Seriously, brother, can’t you leave me to my afterlife in peace?’

Mac looked rather manic, which Bozer assured him while not exactly _unusual,_ wasn’t what he was always like. Jack just brought this out in him.

‘This won’t hurt…uh, I think, anyway. Sorry.’ Jack snorted and muttered something about that being _real confidence-inspiring._ Mac looked genuinely apologetic, and even more manic. ‘You violate all the laws of physics!

Jack crossed his arms.

‘As you’ve said, like, a hundred times, man!’ He huffed. ‘Get on with it.’

The sooner he let him run all these tests, the sooner Mac would solve the mystery of Jack’s existence and leave him alone.

Then again, the weird dorky little mad scientist was starting to grow on him…

Jack sighed again internally.

Clearly he wasn’t getting out enough.

Not that he could…but maybe Mac could solve that problem for him too.

‘Brother…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Sabene4511. I twisted your suggestion a little, mostly because Mac doesn’t believe in ghosts…


	52. Fifty Two

**NATIONAL WAR COLLEGE**

**WASHINGTON D.C.**

**2022**

* * *

Jack had always known he was going to hate this year.

After taking down Kovac (definitely for good this time), he and his Delta unit had been tapped for promotions.

Which was nice (real nice), except that it came with a catch.

They had to go back to school.

Jack was a student of the School of Life, not _school_ -school.

And sure, the National War College was way more up his alley than a normal college, but it was still _school_ -school.

He looked up at his instructor, Major Angus MacGyver from the Army Corps of Engineers, who was ridiculously blonde, ridiculously handsome, ridiculously young (for a Major) and ridiculously lean (for a soldier), who’d just handed out a very long reading list at the start of his first lecture.

‘This is payback for guys like me beating up guys like you in high school, right?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to I’mcalledZorro.


	53. Fifty Three

**CAN-DO REPAIRS**

**LA**

**2020**

* * *

Jack Dalton, now of the FBI (after Kovac, he was done with the CIA for good, and done with being a Delta, too – no more crazy secrecy and black-ops for him), checked the address of the repair store on a piece of paper he’d pulled out of his pocket.

His boss Matty had recommended the place to him when he’d accidentally broken his phone on an op.

(Well, sorta. It was kinda adjacent to an op.)

(It was on a stakeout.)

(He’d sat on it at the wrong angle or something.)

(He was _not_ getting fat, thank you very much, and it was _not_ the fault of all that jalapeno beef jerky.)

It was a little shop (LA real estate was expensive), and seemed to be full of junk, looking like a cross between an industrial-mid-century-slightly-hipster joint, a mad scientist’s lab and a junkyard where toasters went to die.

With a bit of hesitation (there was a _lot_ of junk, and Jack had seen more than enough movies to know that mad scientists’ lairs should be tagged _approach with caution_ ), he opened the door.

Opening the door triggered the dropping of a ball onto a see-saw, which launched another ball, which passed through a laser beam, causing a loud buzzing sound to be emitted.

From behind a vintage refrigerator surrounded by old DVD players at the very back of the shop appeared a surprisingly-young blonde guy in a button-down and chinos, wiping his greasy hands on a rag.

Jack blinked once in surprise. He’d expected some guy in a labcoat with Einstein hair. And for him to be older, rather than this straight-out-of-a-boyband guy.

Though, the streak of grease on his forehead matched with Jack’s expectations.

The blonde guy gave up on the grease on his hands, and just waved at Jack, a little awkwardly.

‘Hi, I’m Mac. What can I do for you today?’

Jack held up his phone and pointed to it.

‘Heard you were the best…so reckon you can save this, brother?’

Mac stared at the phone for a moment, then held his hand out for it. He studied it for a beat, then gave a little smirk, full of confidence and with a little bit of teasing in it, like he knew how Jack had managed to break it in the first place.

‘Give me an hour.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Mac MoFam. 
> 
> To the guest who asked for Star Wars Rebels – there’s already a Star Wars AU written, and it’s set in the same era as Star Wars Rebels. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen the show, so the character matching probably doesn’t line up, but hopefully it’ll scratch your itch…


	54. Fifty Four

**PHOENIX PUBLISHING HOUSE**

**LA**

**2019**

* * *

‘…but Matty-‘

Jack’s publisher put her hands on her hips and shot him the _look_ that her nickname was surely derived from.

‘No buts, Dalton! Put on your big boy pants and _get over it_!’

They had a staring contest for a long moment.

As usual, Jack blinked first.

(One day, he was going to learn her secret. Maybe it was super-special eye-drops made by the CIA.)

He sighed and got up.

He was a best-selling author. He did _not_ need some fancy-schmancy science consultant looking over his latest work, even if it was his first foray into sci-fi and science was, well, not his strong point.

It was called science- _fiction_ for a reason!

* * *

**ONE MONTH LATER**

* * *

‘…it’s science-fiction, man! _Fiction_!’

To punctuate that, Jack crossed his arms stubbornly and glared at his science consultant, a JPL engineer named Angus MacGyver who had handed Jack back a red-covered manuscript.

MacGyver looked utterly astounded, flinging his hands up in an exasperated, long-suffering, frustrated manner.

‘Science-fiction, as a genre, is well-known for, at its best, its grounding in science- _fact_ , and at minimum, lip-service to reality and plausibility!’ He gestured at the manuscript. ‘You don’t even have that! Your protagonist breaks the _First_ Law of Thermodynamics within the first hundred pages!’

‘So?’

Jack was actually starting to enjoy this. He might have just met him, but he was definitely going to enjoy winding up this guy.

Idly, he wondered if he could make MacGyver tear his very thick, luxuriant and definitely-not-thinning-or-greying hair out.

(Jack was _not_ jealous.)

‘It’s the _First Law of Thermodynamics_!’

He said it was if that explained everything, which to him, it probably did.

Jack waved a hand in a _pshaw_ gesture, hiding his smirk.

‘Eh, thermite-dynamite, whatever. Who cares?’

The look on MacGyver’s face was absolutely priceless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to RobinP.


	55. Fifty Five

**PHOENIX PIZZA**

**BOSTON**

**2009**

* * *

‘…for the last forty-seven weeks, Jack Dalton has ordered a large meat-lovers pizza every Friday at the average time of 6:23 pm, with a standard deviation of three minutes.’ Mac paced through the kitchen of the pizza place he worked at to supplement his MIT scholarship, genuinely worried. ‘It’s 6:41 pm on Friday, and he hasn’t called yet. Ergo, something must be wrong.’

Mac’s co-workers, his childhood best friend Bozer, who was studying film at MassArt, Riley Davis, a friend from MIT who was studying computer science, and Leanna Martin, Bozer’s girlfriend and a pre-law student at Harvard, all exchanged a glance.

They were all familiar with Mac’s crazy brain and the crazy things it noticed and computed. They were also familiar with what happened when Mac got bored (being a pizza delivery boy wasn’t exactly intellectually stimulating, even if you didn’t have Mac’s genius-level IQ), and weirdly stalking their customers (unintentionally) was pretty harmless.

And they were all familiar with Mac’s general concern for his fellow humans.

(Mac’s grandpa had told Bozer, once upon a time, that the only thing bigger than his brain was his heart, and Bozer agreed 110% with that sentiment.)

(His bro was totally the world’s smartest, goodest-good-boy Golden Retriever puppy.)

Eventually, after a glance at the two girls and a silent conversation (Bozer was an expert in the Care and Feeding of Angus MacGyver, and the girls – especially Riley – were learning), Bozer spoke up, reaching out to pat his best friend’s arm.

‘Bro, we love you, but…’

Leanna continued, raising her shoulders and gesturing.

‘…don’t you think you’re making a few leaps?’

Riley took the ticket that the POS system spat out and pinned it up, glancing at him.

‘That’s crazier than usual, Mac.’

He glanced at the ticket, looking up the address on the mental map of Boston he had in his head.

‘Well, the order’s for the house behind Mr Dalton’s…’ It was a sizeable order, probably for a small party of some kind. ‘…so I’ll stop by and check on him.’

Bozer grinned as he washed his hands to start making the pizzas.

‘I’ll put together one of his usual.’ He shot Mac a significant look. ‘You know, since he probably just _forgot_ or something…’

Riley and Leanna exchanged a glance, full of affection and tinged with a bit of amusement and exasperation. Riley walked over to the till and punched in the employee discount code, then rang up a large meat-lovers.

The boys were too nice for their own good, sometimes.

* * *

**JACK’S RESIDENCE**

**BOSTON**

**TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER**

* * *

‘…Mr Dalton?’

Mac, carrying a large meat-lovers after delivering the big order to the BU pre-med students having a low-key pizza party, knocked on their regular’s front door.

It opened under his fist, and immediately concerned, Mac opened the door further, senses on high alert.

The house seemed normal (though, were those framed stock photos on the walls?), at least until he got to the living room at the back.

The living room was a mess.

And Mr Dalton was lying on the area rug in the middle, unconscious, and bleeding from what looked like two gunshot wounds to his abdomen.

Eyes widening, Mac ditched the pizza, ran over and knelt by the unconscious man’s side. He seized some trinket from the coffee table (later, he’d note it was a silver Beowulf ring), tossed it at the glass French doors, breaking a pane, and yelled loudly as he pressed hard onto the wounds to try and stem the bleeding.

‘Help! Call 911! He’s been shot!’

His hands were covered in blood, but it wasn’t working. Cursing, brain going at a million miles per minute, Mac pulled out his belt and got to work on a tourniquet.

He yelled again, hoping that someone had heard him. Mr Dalton needed real medical attention, but he _also_ needed someone to try and keep pressure on his wounds just as badly, so he couldn’t ensure both.

A few heads popped over the fence. Mac recognized two of them as the pre-med students who’d received his pizza delivery mere minutes ago.

Their eyes all widened as they took in the scene, before acting quickly. One of the girls, a blonde with glasses, whipped out her phone, while two of the boys boosted a second girl, a small brunette, over the fence. She ran over to the broken glass door, broke it further using a chair on the back deck, climbed through it, and crouched down next to Mac, who was pulling his makeshift tourniquet tight, applying additional pressure using his hands.

Her fingers went automatically to Mr Dalton’s pulse point, and concern flickered across her face, and a touch of nervousness. It disappeared quickly behind focused calm, and she shifted and leaned down to start CPR.

By then, a couple of her friends had made it over the fence too, and the two boys crouched down on either side of the girl. One of them, with curly brown hair, spoke.

‘EMTs are on their way, Jill says ten minutes.’

The other pre-med boy was focused on counting the number of CPR cycles, and had gotten into position to replace his friend if necessary.

Trusting that the pre-med students had the situation in hand (he had never actually performed CPR, and had gotten a C in Biology…), Mac got himself out of the way, before jumping up and starting to move furniture, clearing a space for the paramedics.

* * *

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

**TEN YEARS LATER**

* * *

Mac, now an engineer at a biomedical company, raised an eyebrow at Jack as the older man opened the two pizza boxes at the top of the twin piles on his deck to reveal large meat-lovers pizzas, all kept warm with Mac’s giant, jacked-up heat lamps.

‘You’re supposed to be watching your cholesterol levels.’

Jack gestured between the two of them and Bozer.

‘Hey, this stays between us. What the docs don’t know can’t hurt ‘em.’ Mac opened his mouth like he wanted to say that the docs (especially a certain doc) would definitely know if Jack’s cholesterol levels rose, but decided against it. Jack grinned, in a way that was soft and full of love and affection. ‘’Sides, I ain’t giving this up…’ He gestured at the pizza, then at Mac. ‘Saved my life!’

It really had. If Mac hadn’t noticed such a pattern and cared to investigate, Kovac’s men would have ensured that Jack was in the ground with his old man.

Bozer grinned proudly, clapping his BFF on the arm affectionately, before pointing at the blonde.

‘And it’s totally appropriate for the occasion!’

Bozer was totally putting this into the movie he was writing about his BFF’s extraordinary life. The symbolism of eating meat-lovers pizza on his bro’s Stag Night was _so_ incredibly amazing, given how he’d met the soon-to-be Mrs MacGyver.

* * *

Later, Bozer grinned as he ferried snacks from the kitchen to where the guys had gathered outside.

By the fridge, Jack was pulling out chilled beers and tossing them to Mac, who opened them with his Swiss Army knife, then slid them along the counter so they all clustered neatly together.

As usual, the two of them were bickering while operating completely in-sync.

‘…yes, lycopenes have cardio-protective effects, but that does not mean that the tomato sauce on pizza negates the negative impact of the excess of processed meat!’

‘But you told me that yourself, man-‘

‘I did not! I simply gave you a layman’s summary on the latest research on-‘

Bozer grinned wider.

You simply couldn’t write a better unlikely bromance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to I’mcalledZorro.


	56. Fifty Six

**D &D BATHROOM SPECIALISTS**

**LA**

**2018**

* * *

‘…bro, I told you to leave the showerhead alone and not mess with it!’

Jack heard the young African-American guy with immaculately-groomed facial hair before he actually saw him.

Man seemed _really_ worked up, gesturing wildly and dramatically at the taller, younger blonde guy in a brown leather jacket with him.

The blonde nodded ruefully and apologetically, before he gave a sheepish little smirk, raising a shoulder.

‘In my defence, I _did_ raise the water pressure.’

That got the shorter guy to stop in his tracks and shoot the blonde a _look._ The gesturing got even wilder, he spluttered slightly, and the blonde looked even more earnestly, apologetically sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck.

‘You destroyed, like, three square feet of tile, and the showerhead looks all industrial-steampunk, and _not_ in a good way, bro!’

The blonde sighed and nodded.

‘In hindsight, it was not one of my most well-executed ideas…’ His companion snorted. ‘…and I’m really sorry, Boze.’ He gestured at the tile section of the shop. ‘So, um, why don’t you go pick out our new tile? And a new showerhead, of course.’

‘Boze’ stared at his friend, raising an eyebrow.

‘You’re gonna re-tile the entire bathroom in whatever tile I pick out?’ The blonde just nodded, as if it were obvious. After a moment, ‘Boze’ grinned and shook his head in a way that was full of love and exasperation, before pointing at the taller man. ‘And that’s why being mad at you is like being mad at a puppy for chewing up your favourite kicks…’

Then, the grin shifted and he rubbed his hands together in a way that could only be described as excitedly gleeful, walking towards the tile.

His friend followed, a fond, long-suffering smile on his face, shaking his head.

Jack took that as his cue, and walked forward to greet his customers, a big grin on his face.

(This was definitely going to be a good sale.)

‘Morning, gentlemen. Little birdy told me you were looking for some new bathroom tiles, and we just got these beauties in; all-marble Moroccan-style, or maybe you’re more the industrial look? We got these great slates, really go with your jacket there, man…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Mac Mofam. Mac would totally destroy the bathroom while caught up in an idea (while Bozer was out filming, of course), Bozer would then come home to find the showerhead looking all industrial-steampunk (not in a good way) and the tile destroyed and his BFF soaking wet and covered in plaster dust and bits of tile…and looking every bit like a Golden Retriever puppy caught chewing his favourite kicks. Of course, Mac would then re-tile the bathroom in whatever Bozer picked out…even if it was that really expensive, really hard to lay marble mosaic. (Which it probably wouldn’t be, since it doesn’t match the industrial mid-century-modern aesthetic Mac’s house has got going on.)


	57. Fifty Seven

**RIVERSIDE NATIONAL CEMETERY**

**CALIFORNIA**

**2021**

* * *

Mac stared at the gravestone in front of him, not really seeing it.

Years and years of estrangement, and it felt like he and his dad had just started truly rebuilding their relationship when that bombshell had hit.

A 50/50 chance.

Good odds for a MacGyver, Bozer had joked, once, to lighten the mood.

But, as his dad had kept saying to him, cancer wasn’t a problem that Mac could solve.

It wasn’t a problem that either of them could solve, it turned out.

50/50 odds, for once in either of their lives, weren’t good enough.

James MacGyver had made it more than two years after diagnosis.

They’d gotten that time together at least.

But The Big C had done what more than twenty years in the Army Corps of Engineers, including lengthy spells in combat zones, couldn’t.

* * *

Jack hauled himself to his feet, wincing a little internally as his knees croaked in protest. He was getting a little too old for this sitting-on-the-ground-for-hours, talking-to-Pops stuff.

He grinned at the gravestone in front of him.

‘…can’t let my favourite girls hear that, can I?’ Riley, Delilah, heck, even Diane would never, ever let him hear the end of it. Jack gave a fond grin, and waved at his dad’s gravestone. ‘Catch you later, Pops.’

He strode towards the entry of the cemetery, keen to get back to LA proper and his family. Tonight was Skeeball night, after all.

* * *

Jack had no intention of hanging around the cemetery now that he was done chatting with his dad.

You know, ghosts and all. Besides, bad things always happened in cemeteries in horror movies, and Jack was not about to become the handsome jock that always died first.

But that young blonde guy had been standing there, staring at a gravestone, when Jack had walked past to visit his dad.

And now, a good two hours later, he was still there.

Still looking a little lost.

Still staring into the distance.

Still trying to come to terms with it all.

Jack got that. He remembered it.

He’d seen that look in the mirror before, more than once.

When his old man had passed. When he’d lost one of his brothers-in-arms, far too many times for comfort.

Maybe the guy wanted to be alone. Maybe he was being nosy, or even rude.

But Jack’s gut, and the years of wisdom he’d acquired the hard way, told him that no-one who looked like that and stared at a headstone for hours should be alone.

Besides, despite his mama’s best efforts, Jack had never been much good at the whole privacy and boundaries thing.

‘You hanging in there, brother?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Mac Mofam. (I’m not jinxing Mac and Jim either!)


	58. Fifty Eight

**PHOENIX FOREST**

**SOMEWHERE IN CALIFORNIA**

**(NOT THE CALIFORNIA WE KNOW)**

* * *

A brown bear and a black jaguar prowled through the woods at a leisurely pace. The bear was a particularly large, muscular specimen, while the jaguar was lithe and slender, seemingly young.

Suddenly, they stopped in their tracks and sniffed the air.

They exchanged a glance, then took off at a sprint.

* * *

The pair arrived less than a minute later in a small clearing, the bear sliding to a stop, the jaguar almost colliding with him. She shot him a _look,_ but the bear just gestured to the source of the scent.

A particularly light-coloured and long-legged Golden Retriever, unconscious, breathing weakly, lying in the middle of the clearing. There was a blood trail leading from the trees at the edge of the clearing all the way to where he was, like he’d simply collapsed, unable to go another step.

And no wonder, given the blood matting the fur on his chest and abdomen.

The bear and the jaguar didn’t even need to exchange another glance.

Shifters always recognized other shifters.

And shifters always helped other shifters.

The bear and the jaguar _changed._

Suddenly, a middle-aged man, well-built with brown hair, and a young woman of around twenty with dark, slightly-wild hair stood in the clearing.

Jack immediately pulled a knife from his boot and started cutting a strip off his shirt to use as a makeshift bandage. Wordlessly, Riley passed him her canteen of water. Jack took it, then addressed her while he cleaned and dressed the unknown shifter’s wounds as best as he could.

‘Run back to town, Ri, tell the Healing Mistress we got a patient for her.’

Riley nodded seriously, _changed_ and ran.

Jack, meanwhile, pulled the bandage tight, and picked up the injured shifter. _Brother_ , in the old tradition.

He remembered, very vaguely, the times when most shifters had lived in fear.

Things were better now, with a new Queen on the throne and forty-five years of time, but some ordinary folk were still wary, even fearful, of their kind.

And with fear came, well, what might well have happened to this brother.

‘You’re gonna be alright, brother. We’re gonna get you help, get you somewhere safe…’

And Jack was going to find whoever had done this.

Shifters looked out for other shifters.

Besides, this one looked young, probably no older than Riley, and that tugged at his heartstrings in a way he couldn’t fully describe, but had felt oh-so-strongly since Diane had introduced him to her precocious, brilliant, fiercely independent daughter all those years ago.

Careful not to jostle him too much, Jack ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to WePo. This could probably become an entire story of its own…although the mythology of shifters would take some fleshing out.


	59. Fifty Nine

**PHOENIX FOUNDATION HEADQUARTERS**

**SOMEWHERE IN LA**

**2019**

* * *

‘…I know you’re really different, and you’d probably hate each other if you met, you know, normally, but…’ Will Mozer, the Phoenix’s top agent, and all-round legend/hero, spoke dramatically as he looked at his BFF, crazy-mad-scientist-genius-puppy MacGyber, and Jock Palton, ex-soldier, ex-CIA. The two other men were standing on opposite sides of the metal table in MacGyber’s lab, arms crossed and staring at one another with evaluative, judgemental looks, _clearly_ embodying polar opposites. ‘…I need your help to save the world from the space-alien hit-man!’

At that, Will Mozer straightened up, his posture changing subtly in a way that made him look incredibly heroic. It matched perfectly with his passionate, persuasive, charismatic and inspirational words.

In the background, Mozer’s sidekick Miley tripped over thin air, but nodded in strong agreement with her boss.

(Her inspirational look was good, but not quite as good as Mozer’s. They were working on it.)

Mozer’s expression changed a little, subtly again, with something deeply angst-heavy, terribly torn apart and struggling appearing on his visage.

(He continued to look really heroic and brave, of course.)

He turned to face MacGyber, then Jock, in turn.

‘You’re the only person I know who can work out how to separate his soul from Deanna, bro…and you’re the only muscle I trust to not kill her on sight, man!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Err…with thanks to Bozer?


	60. Sixty

**OUTER RIM CANTINA**

**(A SMUGGLERS’ PARADISE)**

**A GALAXY FAR, FAR AWAY**

**NINE YEARS POST-ORDER 66**

* * *

‘That ain’t who I am anymore.’

Jack Dalton, former Jedi Knight and General of the Republic, took a large gulp of his beer, shaking his head at Matty Webber, formerly a higher-up in the Republic Intelligence Agency.

He was _not_ cut out to be the Master or the teacher or whatever she was asking him to be to a bunch of Force-sensitive kids.

He’d only survived Order 66 by sheer dumb luck.

(He and his squad – affectionately nicknamed Dalton’s Heroes – had been going through a nasty bout of electrocution at the moment it’d come through.)

(Turned out prolonged electrocution fried those control chips in his men’s brains. The seizures they’d gotten weren’t pretty, had given him a fright, but it’d at least alerted them to their presence, and he’d made arrangements with a slightly dodgy Outer Rim surgeon and gotten them out for ‘em.)

(Least he could do for the men – not clones, they were far from carbon copies of each other – who’d saved his life time and time again.)

Now, he and his crew (his men, plus Dez) were smugglers with a rep for record times on the Kessel Run on the Falcon…and admittedly, a soft spot for kids and refugees and slaves (or soon-to-be-former slaves, when they had their way…which was pretty much always, since Dez was real determined and real intense).

Matty nodded.

‘I know.’ She leaned forward. ‘These kids are some of the bravest, strongest people I know…but they’re growing up with powers they don’t fully understand, in a galaxy where the people in charge want to murder them just for _existing._ They’re _scared,_ Jack, and they _need_ you.’ She dropped some credits on the table. ‘Put on your big boy pants, Dalton.’

And then, she was gone.

He turned to Dez, sitting beside him, saw the disapproval on her face.

It was directed at him, not Matty.

He shook his head.

‘I ain’t training kids, Dez.’

Jack drained the last of his beer.

The Clone Wars had been, on the front lines, fought by Padawans (kids) and his men’s brothers, who’d never been given a choice (slaves).

Never again.

Dez just shrugged easily, crunching on those chips she liked.

‘You trained me.’

Dez was seventeen this year. Still a child by Human standards, even if she didn’t look it, with her leather jacket and the tattoos that covered so much of her skin already and that hard look in her eyes and the way she could kick just ‘bout anyone’s butt and hit nearly any target with one of her blasters or the vibroknife she always had tucked in her boot for emergencies.

Jack stared at her for a moment before he spoke, not quite as certain as he’d been moments earlier.

‘That’s different.’

Dez _needed_ it. And she wasn’t really a kid anymore, not with what she’d seen, what she’d been through, what she’d survived.

(He hadn’t taught her that hardness in her eyes.)

(Her tattoos – the ones she’d chosen – hid the one that she hadn’t. The one that marked her as her former owner’s property.)

She looked him dead in the eye.

‘Younglings who survived the Temple massacre.’ Somehow. Matty hadn’t gone into the details, simply said that some of them had saved themselves, against all odds. ‘Force-sensitive kids taken in by the Alliance.’ The Empire was hunting them, Jack knew. Trying to stamp out the potential next generation of Jedi before they even realized what they could do. Those kids were enemies of the Empire from the moment they were born, and treated as such. Dez leaned forward, a challenging, rhetorical tone in her voice. ‘What’s the difference?’

Jack sighed, running a hand over his face.

He motioned the nearest waitress over, ordering more chips for Dez and another drink for himself.

* * *

**REBEL BASE**

**YAVIN**

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

* * *

Matty wordlessly led Jack into a large room in the centre of the base.

Inside, were a bunch of kids, aged somewhere, he thought, between twelve and eighteen.

A half-Twi'lek girl, with lekku but almost-Human, slightly blue-tinged skin, typing on a datapad, lines of holographic code projected in front of her. A Human girl, blonde and blue-eyed with glasses, typing with just as much focus next to her.

There was a boy who initially looked like a dark-skinned Human (but the Force told him that that was not his true form) telling what sounded like an outrageous story to a Human girl with dark skin and pin-straight hair. The girl seemed to be trying to pay attention to an educational Holo-vid, but was getting pretty distracted by her friend.

Three dark-skinned Tholothians in a corner who looked like siblings, cleaning blasters with disturbing efficiency and expertise.

Another blonde, blue-eyed Human girl sitting in a relaxed pose in the corner. Jack startled a little with surprise as he felt her reach out, through the Force, and brush against his mind. He looked over at her, and she just smiled a knowing little smile.

There were a couple others (a dark-skinned boy who looked a little older than most of the others and had to be at least part-Teevan, given how he was bending around the R2 droid he was fixing, a small Mirialan girl with huge brown eyes learning suturing from a medical droid), but at the very centre of the room, there was a blonde Human boy, looking extraordinarily focused as he assembled (or, perhaps, reassembled) a lightsabre using the Force.

His movements were a little shaky, not properly trained.

His ‘sabre looked partially improvised, crude, even, not the elegant perfection Jack was used to.

But, as he watched, he slotted the last part into place, called the weapon to his hands, and activated it.

The blue blade was exactly as Jack recalled.

He found himself walking over to the boy, gesturing with his head to the weapon.

‘You build that yourself, son?’

The boy just nodded.

For the first time in a very long time, Jack felt _hope._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly surprised with myself that it took this long to get a _Star Wars_ AU…
> 
> Apologies for not updating last Wednesday and Friday; I was marking undergraduate exams, which was an extremely all-consuming task…


	61. Sixty One

**MACGYVER’S LABORATORY**

**THE KINGDOM OF PHOENIX**

* * *

‘…You _cannot_ just _decide_ that you’re going to do alchemy!’ Mac, his Alchemist’s coat (long, brown fireproof leather – for good reason) trailing behind him as he bustled around his lab, surveying the damage and trying to work out what had actually been done, looked very, very annoyed, angry, even, at the Knight Sir Jack Dalton. Typical Knights. Loudmouthed knuckle-draggers who never, ever thought to _read_ or even pay attention to basic Natural Arts! ‘You used all my saltpetre?’ Mac picked up an emptied clay jar (a large one), gesturing in an utterly astounded manner. ‘Do you even know what this is?’

Jack shrugged.

‘Figured it was just a fancy name for salt mined or something by a guy named Peter.’

Mac actually gaped a little at him, as if he could not believe someone could be so…

Then, he shook his head, frustrated, and gestured around the lab.

Half of his supplies has been either consumed or damaged. Most of his books were covered in ash, though thankfully none had been destroyed. His favourite pewter cauldron had melted. His second-best workbench wasn’t so much a bench anymore but a pile of badly charred wood with an intact leg or two on the sides.

The stone floor had _char marks._

He picked up a jar of sulfur, and what had once been a large lump of pumice, looking rather mournfully at his brand-new hunk of limestone.

Or where it used to be, anyway.

Feeling his temper start to boil over, Mac just pointed furiously at the door.

‘Out.’

Sir Dalton opened his mouth to protest.

‘But the potion, to save the Princess-‘

That made Mac draw in a breath, his temper cooling, and he locked eyes with the Knight.

‘I will make that potion, immediately, and deliver it personally to the Castle, I promise.’ Mac’s expression softened further, and he took a deep breath. Sir Dalton, for all his reputation as a particularly loudmouthed, knuckle-dragging, loudmouthed knuckle-dragger, was known to be a good man, and Mac had heard that genuine desperation, care, in his voice. ‘Meet me _outside_ in about six hours. We’ll personally escort it to the Castle.’

Sir Dalton apparently recognized an olive branch when he saw one, because he nodded, and gestured around Mac’s lab, rubbing the back of his neck.

‘Sorry for the mess, brother.’

_Mess_ didn’t even begin to describe it, but willing away the headache that was threatening to start, Mac nodded, accepting the apology.

The Knight left, and he got to work, peering at the recipe in one of his old books that Sir Dalton had been trying to follow (which had miraculously survived the explosion – or, he thought more likely, explosions – unharmed).

Ten minutes later, Bozer skidded in, his arms full of supplies that he’d presumably begged or borrowed (and hopefully hadn’t stolen).

Mac’s best friend started putting the jars down, surveying the room.

‘You know, bro, to be fair to Sir Dalton, this isn’t worse than anything _you’ve_ done to your poor lab…’

Mac glanced over at him, the expression on his face half a _look,_ half sheepish.

_To be fair to Boze, that_ is _true._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Camospy100.


	62. Sixty Two

**MACGYVER’S FAVOURITE APPLIANCES SHOP**

**(WELL, SORT-OF)**

**LA**

**2017**

* * *

Angus MacGyver was minding his own business, since he was very much focused on it.

The owner of his favourite appliances shop had given him permission to go out into the alley behind the business, rummage through the defective stock and broken parts from appliances that’d been brought in for repair.

Thus, Mac was like the proverbial kid in a candy store.

As a result, he didn’t notice the man enter the alleyway until he spoke.

‘Alright, _buddy,_ you get one chance to explain why you did that to Ri.’ Mac whirled around, to see the muscular brunette, older than him by a good many years, crack his knuckles. ‘Better make it a real good one…or you’re gonna be eating knuckle sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and dinner, ‘stead of just breakfast.’

Mac looked incredulously at him, half a toaster in hand.

‘I…what…who’s Ri? I don’t know anyone called-‘

The older man’s expression darkened further.

‘Bad answer, man.’

And next thing Mac knew, he was dodging out of the way of a punch, because this man was a lot faster than his size suggested, and apparently, really, really angry.

* * *

Eventually, Mac got the chance to explain that he was most definitely not Riley’s (or Ri, for short) asshole ex-boyfriend Ryan, and in fact, he did not actually even _know_ anyone called Riley.

(The fight had gotten to a stalemate – he’d had the man, Jack, in a headlock of sorts, Jack had had him pretty much pinned, which finally gave Mac a chance to explain, aided a little by the bits and bobs he’d pieced together as Jack tried to whoop his ass.)

(Jack was _really_ chatty, apparently, even when in the midst of a fight.)

To his credit, Jack was apologetic about the _very_ mistaken identity, reaching out and shaking Mac’s hand in a gesture of peace.

At that moment, Bozer, a brand-new toaster that Mac had sworn on his prism collection to never, ever touch unless there was an actual, life-threatening emergency in a box in his arms, came out, looking for his best friend/roommate/landlord.

He took one look at the cut over his best friend’s left eyebrow, his mussed hair and clothes, and the faint beginnings of a bruise over his right eye.

Bozer put down the toaster, rather deliberately, raised his fists in a poor fighting position that looked like something out of a movie, and gave Jack an admittedly impressive stink-eye.

‘Nobody puts my bro in a corner!’

Mac sighed internally, shaking his head with exasperated affection (Boze was… _Boze_ ), and pre-emptively stepped between Bozer and Jack (because he really did not want to have anything to do with anymore fighting today, at the very least).

‘It’s okay, Boze. It was all a, uh, misunderstanding. That, um, got a bit out of control.’

He looked rather pointedly at Jack for a moment, a brow quirked.

Jack nodded, raising a shoulder.

‘Yeah, that’s probably on me.’

Mac snorted.

* * *

_Trust me, I never let Jack forget that incident._

_And for the record, I also never let him forget that it was his fault._

_Nor did I forget the, well,_ conversation _Diane and Riley had with him when they found out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to sora_grey.


	63. Sixty Three

**HAWAII**

**A PLACE FOR R &R…MOSTLY**

**2019**

* * *

Jack Dalton, helicopter pilot for one of Hawaii’s leading scenic chopper flight companies, spoke over his headset to his passenger.

The lean, young blonde man (wearing a blue and white aloha shirt that looked a little out-of-place on him) was holding on tightly to the edge of his seat, and seemed to be forcing himself to look out of the window, down at the spectacular scenery.

He occasionally squeezed his eyes shut, leaned back as if giving himself a little break, before, with renewed vigour and effort, looking out the window again.

‘You alright, brother?’

Jack really hoped he didn’t throw up over the seats. They’d just been reupholstered.

His passenger nodded, a little shakily, but very resolutely.

‘Yeah, I, uh, don’t like heights.’

Jack snorted.

‘Figured, man, but then why’d you book a two-hour scenic chopper flight?’

There was silence for a moment as they passed over a valley. Apparently, the greater distance from the ground was not doing his passenger much good.

‘New Year’s resolution. Exposure therapy.’

Exposure therapy indeed. Jack shook his head, really hoping his upholstery wasn’t going to get ruined.

‘How’s that going for you, man?’

His passenger glanced at phone.

‘As me again in one hour, forty-one minutes and thirty-two seconds.’

Jack snorted again.

Kid was clearly crazy, no way about it.

Still, Jack respected the whole bull-by-the-horns thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to I’mcalledZorro. This is probably not quite what you’re thinking about…but I have not actually seen Hawaii Five-0, so just took the very basic premise…(Also, I wrote this just after seeing 3.20, No-Go + High Voltage + Rescue.)


	64. Sixty Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for a school shooting on this one.

**MISSION CITY HIGH SCHOOL**

**NORTHERN CALIFORNIA**

**2006**

* * *

Jack Dalton, leader of a crack SWAT team, took point as he and his men breached the school building.

He took one centring breath as they moved down the hallway in formation, weapons at the ready.

An active shooter situation at a school was just about Jack’s worst nightmare.

They made their way further into the school, clearing classrooms as they went, heading for the canteen, where intel suggested the shooter had been heading.

Jack swallowed, controlling his emotions as Worthy and Thorpe shepherded a group of teens out of their classroom, trying to make sure they didn’t look a little further down the hall, where Lanier was checking the school custodian for a pulse.

He didn’t find one, so re-joined the rest of the squad as they turned the corner to the canteen.

There were spent shell casings littering the floor, but only a couple of bullet holes in the door.

Then, their earpieces crackled to life with their boss Matty’s voice.

‘Dalton, we’ve got activity. Canteen windows are opening.’

Jack exchanged a quick look with Deacon, who was on his right, and then, they all moved a little faster.

Lanier checked the door carefully, and sent a negative hand signal. Munoz and Fitzy got in position to breach the door, Munoz unslinging the battering ram he’d been carrying. Jack counted down silently, and then, they moved as one.

* * *

The scene that greeted them inside the canteen was very, very unexpected.

There was a semi-automatic weapon with serious kickback, the magazine removed, in the middle of the floor.

Ten feet away was the assumed shooter (he was wearing a balaclava), out-cold, with his hands tied behind his back with a belt.

The room was full of teens on the floor, also seemingly out-cold. Several had gunshot wounds, but most of them had been field-dressed with strips of what looked like a shirt.

And the only conscious person in the entire canteen was a skinny blonde boy who was wearing a makeshift gas mask, his shirt torn to shreds, holding a Swiss Army knife and another strip of shirt. The magazine was tucked into his jeans, which might have been partly necessary to keep his pants up (he was really skinny and was missing his belt). He was crouching by another of his injured classmates, and wisely, had his hands up.

Jack blinked once, as relief flooded him. He nodded at the boy, lowering his weapon, and the boy immediately got to work field-dressing his classmate’s arm. Munoz secured the shooter and the others moved to assist with first aid, while Jack tapped his earpiece, shaking his head a little in disbelief.

‘Matty, shooter’s down. Tell the medics we got GSWs…and knockout gas.’ Matty’s response made him raise his hands. ‘I got no idea!’ He glanced over at the blonde kid, who was working pretty seamlessly with Lanier. ‘Reckon you’ll have to ask him yourself.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to NYWCgirl.


	65. Sixty Five

**MACGYVER’S RESIDENCE**

**LA**

**2012**

* * *

‘You want me to raise your son.’

Mac, incredulous and angry and _hurt,_ glanced between the baby (blonde and blue-eyed and with an eerie resemblance to his own baby photos) sleeping peacefully in a portable cot in his living room, and his father, whom he hadn’t seen since he’d left on that ‘business trip’ days before his tenth birthday.

* * *

At the window, watching the black SUV drive away, a precious bundle in his arms, Mac sighed. He walked back over to the armchair as if on autopilot, and sat down.

He looked down at his baby brother, little Samuel MacGyver, one month old and already abandoned by his father, and silently vowed that unlike Mac himself, this little boy would never, ever wonder if his parent cared, would never, ever be _abandoned._

He leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Sam’s head.

‘Looks like it’s just you, me and Uncle Boze, bud.’

* * *

**FIVE AND A HALF YEARS LATER**

* * *

The car ride home was full of tension. Mac tried to focus on the road, but it was honestly difficult with Sam sniffling in the back seat, his arms crossed and stubbornly refusing to meet Mac’s eyes whenever he glanced back in the rear-view mirror.

Mac sighed.

Raising a child was hard. Raising a child as a single father in your early twenties was probably even harder.

He was the only father Sam had ever known and would ever know, and the truth was a complicated can of worms that he didn’t want to open…so as far as Sam knew, Mac was actually his dad.

(Explaining his lack of a mom was a bit harder, but thankfully, Sam was willing to buy the explanation Mac gave him for where babies came from, though he’d refused to believe Uncle Bozer’s argument that most were delivered by stork, but MacGyver babies came by drone.)

At least until that afternoon, when Sam (curious and precocious) had eavesdropped on a conversation Mac was having with his soon-to-be third grade teacher.

* * *

When they got home, Sam unbuckled himself, opened the door and stormed out, his backpack in hand.

He walked a few feet towards the front door, before turning back to Mac, tears in his eyes and sounding absolutely heartbroken.

‘You _aren’t_ my dad!’ Sam stubbornly refused to let himself actually cry, sniffling instead. ‘You _lied_ to me!’

And with those heart-wrenching, heart-breaking words, he ran inside, past his Uncle Boze, who’d opened the front door to welcome father and son home.

As Sam headed for his attic bedroom, Bozer glanced at his BFF with concern. He raised a shoulder.

‘Guess he got the MacGyver dramatic flair?’

That got a wry snort out of the blonde which might have been an attempt at a laugh, before Mac sighed, reached out and clapped Bozer on the shoulder in thanks.

‘I’ll…I’ll give him a few minutes to process and calm down, then…’

Mac gestured with his head towards the ceiling as the two best friends walked inside.

Bozer nodded.

‘I’ll get started on the mac’n’cheese.’

It definitely seemed like a mac’n’cheese kind of day.

* * *

Precisely seven minutes later, Bozer was just grating some cheese when his BFF ran down the stairs, at full speed, two at a time, his hair wild like he’d run his hand through it several times.

‘He’s gone.’

Bozer dropped the block of cheese.

‘What?’

Mac looked even more frantic, panicked. Bozer didn’t blame him, because he was starting to feel the same way.

‘Sam’s gone, he’s not upstairs, his bag’s missing and the secret escape hatch has been opened!’

Immediately, Bozer shucked his apron, muttering under his breath with exasperated worry about the MacGyver dramatic flair, as Mac grabbed his leather jacket from the coat hook. Both of them grabbed their phones, and headed out the front door.

There, Bozer paused, and reached out and put a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, stilling him, feeling the tension and fear and guilt there.

‘We’ll find him, bro.’

Mac stared at him for a beat, swallowed and nodded, and then took off at a brisk jog.

Bozer jogged off in the other direction.

* * *

**RUNYON CANYON PARK**

* * *

Sam set down his backpack and plopped down on a rock at the start of his dad’s (no, a voice in his brain corrected, his brother’s, Mac’s) favourite running trail.

(On weekends, sometimes they’d run or walk part of it together. When they ran – and they usually raced – Sam knew his dad slowed down a lot for him, because he’d seen him run properly, for real, when he woke up early and Uncle Boze took him down here to meet Dad after his morning run with extra water and a cereal bar.)

The little boy reached into his backpack and pulled out a paperclip, and his Swiss Army knife.

(It was a kids’ one, not a real one, that Uncle Boze had gotten him for his fourth birthday. His dad – no, a voice in his head corrected sternly, his brother – had promised him a real one for his eighth.)

Sam started reshaping the paperclip with that he’d once heard Uncle Boze describe as ‘extreme prejudice’ when his dad (his brother) did it.

* * *

Sam was about two-thirds of the way towards a star when he was interrupted by loud barking. Startled, he almost dropped the re-shaped paperclip, as a dog pulling on a leash (hard), dragging a brunette man who was definitely _old_ in his eyes (he was way older than Sam’s dad and Uncle Boze).

The man was also familiar. This was Coach Dalton, who taught PE to the older kids at Sam’s school.

‘…Peaches, heel!’ The dog ignored his owner. ‘Come on, man!’ Peaches, a big doggy grin on his face, dragged Coach over to Sam, sitting and wagging his tail. Coach shook his head in the way that Uncle Boze and his dad did to each other when Uncle Boze went on and on about burgers or his latest movie project or his eight-layer chocolate cake, or when his dad did an _awesome_ experiment that made the turkey baster or the non-spare toaster or the vacuum cleaner not useful for their intended purpose anymore. ‘Sorry, kid, but he ain’t gonna leave you alone ‘till he gets a head-scratch.’

With a smile, Sam obediently reached out and gave Peaches a head-scratch between his ears, then a few pats for good measure.

Peaches’ tail wagged harder.

‘Hey, Coach.’

Coach’s brow furrowed for a moment, like he was confused, before his eyes narrowed a little and he pointed at Sam.

‘You’re the paint explosion kid.’

‘That was an _accident_!’

Sam had gotten a little carried away, but he hadn’t meant to cover himself, and the rest of his art class, and the art teacher…and the walls and the ceiling…with paint.

Most of the school didn’t believe him.

But his Uncle Boze and his dad did, and they’d eventually smoothed it over with the art teacher and the principal…

Coach still didn’t look completely convinced.

‘Sure…’ Then, his expression changed as he took in Sam, sitting on a rock with his backpack, all alone. He looked worried. ‘You alright, kiddo? It’s almost dinner time…’

Sam knew you weren’t supposed to actually _talk_ to strangers, but Coach wasn’t exactly a stranger. He was, sort-of, one of Sam’s teachers…and he really, really wanted to talk to somebody about this.

(Somebody who wasn’t Uncle Boze or Auntie Penny or his dad. Brother.)

Besides, Coach seemed nice, and like he really cared, and his gut just gave him a good feeling, so…

Sam reached out and patted Peaches again. The dog snuggled up closer to him, and Coach took that as a cue to sit down on a rock next to Sam’s.

‘I…I don’t have a mom. I’ve never had one, and I was sorta okay with that…’

* * *

Jack listened to the poor kid tell his sorry tale.

Poor thing had had a big shock, that was for sure.

Still, from the way that Sam was so hurt, from what he’d heard on the grapevine in the aftermath of the Paint Explosion Incident, Sam’s much bigger brother was a damn good dad.

So, Jack reached out, scratched Peaches’ ears, and then turned to the boy who’d fallen silent, and was, for some reason, turning a paperclip into a star.

‘I got a question for you, buddy. Whaddya think makes a dad a good one? And how do you know that?’

‘That’s two questions.’

Jack shrugged.

‘You say poh-ta-to, I say poh-tay-to.’

Sam didn’t look satisfied with that, crossing his arms. He thought for a moment, then glanced back up at Jack.

‘Are you saying that since my dad’s the best dad ever, and does Dad things for me, even if he isn’t _really_ my dad, he is my dad?’

It took Jack a moment to process that. Kid was clearly whip-smart.

He nodded.

‘Yup, got it in one, buddy.’ He ran a hand through Peaches’ ruff. ‘I got a daughter. Her name’s Riley. Met her mom when Ri was ten, so I ain’t actually her father, but I _am_ her daddy.’

Sam pondered that a moment, and was just nodding when there were footsteps, and then a voice.

‘Sam?’

The little boy jumped up.

‘Dad!’

Jack watched as a young blonde guy came ‘round the corner, caught sight of Sam, and looked very, very relieved in a way that Jack understood very well. He crouched down in front of the little boy, looking him over once with concern, as if making sure he was none the worse for wear after his little ‘adventure’, then looked him in the eye.

‘Sam, I’m sorry, I should have told you the truth-‘

‘I’m sorry for running away, Dad.’

Father and son spoke over each other, then their faces broke into matching grins, and both flung their arms around each other.

Jack smiled.

* * *

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

* * *

Jack, sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter next to Sam, who was tinkering with an old DVD player Mac had bought for him, glanced between the little boy and Bozer, who was prepping burgers to go on the grill, grinning conspiratorially.

He jerked his thumb at Mac, who was outside setting up the grill.

(It had an unfortunate tendency to catch fire ever since Mac had tricked it out to cook pastrami in only half an hour. He was currently trying to fix that...there hadn’t been a fire yet?)

‘You know, Sammy boy, whaddya say we help your dad find you a mom? You know, since he ain’t made much progress on that front on his own…’

The matching conspiratorial grins on Bozer and Sam’s faces told him all Jack needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to RobinP. Jack’s line about ‘I’m not her father, but I’m her daddy’ is paraphrased from _Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. II._


	66. Sixty Six

**A HOSPITAL**

**MISSION CITY**

**CALIFORNIA**

**1997**

* * *

Through the glass of the window into the hospital room, Jack glanced at the blonde six-year-old with a broken left arm, bruised ribs, far too many cuts and abrasions to count and, most likely, a case of PTSD.

Angus MacGyver was the son of his sister in all but blood, the late Ellen MacGyver.

Ellen’s dad Harry and Jack’s dad had served together, and been best friends, so naturally, even if Harry and his family were in California and the Daltons’ in Texas, there’d been visits and shared vacations and Christmas cards and letters.

Ellen had been the second big sister Jack hadn’t actually wanted when he’d been a kid.

When they’d grown, they’d drifted apart a little, but still corresponded as frequently as they could, given Jack’s deployments.

They’d stayed close, but Jack had only met the son she’d had a handful of times, when he was very young, owing to said deployments and _life,_ in general.

He hadn’t seen Ellen as often as he should.

It was a regret he’d have forever now, since she’d been gone nearly a year.

And now, just a year later, her husband and her dad were dead in a car crash, her little boy the miraculous survivor…

And Jack was all he had.

His sister was in Dallas, had two kids and a life there. She’d take little Angus, of course she would, but the boy had just lost everything, and they didn’t want to uproot him from all he’d ever known.

Hence, Jack was moving to out of LA, to Mission City, to become Angus MacGyver’s guardian.

He had no idea how to be a parent.

But he was going to have to learn.

Taking a deep breath, Jack walked into the hospital room.

* * *

**DALTON-MACGYVER-DAVIS FAMILY RESIDENCE**

**MISSION CITY**

**SEVEN YEARS LATER**

* * *

‘…come on, kiddos, Mom says we gotta get going if we don’t wanna be late for dinner with the Bozers…’

Jack walked into the living room, to find the floor in front of the TV an utter mess.

Riley had her and Mac’s PlayStation 2 disassembled, and was holding the soldering iron that Mac had asked for for Christmas, doing something to its insides.

Jack wasn’t even sure he wanted to know what Mac was doing with the controllers. And the toaster.

‘Hey, you know the house rules, no making time machines! We don’t mess with the time in this family! You know that never ends well!’

Mac and Riley both rolled their eyes.

‘It’s not a time machine, Dad.’

‘We’re upgrading the PlayStation. When we’re done, we’ll have improved resolution by at least 10%, and controller responsiveness and response time by 20%.’ Mac shrugged, wiping his greasy hands off on his handkerchief. ‘Besides, time travel does not necessarily have to end badly; it doesn’t destroy the so-called future that you’re from, it merely creates an alternate universe…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to GeekyNightOwl1997.
> 
> This is the last of the ficlets I had stockpiled before I started writing _The Measure of Our Lives_. As I have only limited time and energy, I’m going to focus on finishing that before I return to this, so this fic is going on hiatus until I finish _The Measure of Our Lives._ If you’re a fan of the way I write Mac and Jack bromance, and the team as a family, check that out!


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